People- 1

As part of a new "People" series, I have decided to interview a few interesting people that I know. What follows is the interview of my father. He is an aeronautical engineer at HAL, Bangalore and has been my mentor and inspiration since my childhood. Thank you Pa for taking time out for this...



My Father: "I will try to answer them as my true response without any cosmetics to it. It may be raw sometimes."


Q1) Define yourself. What makes you, you?

Basically I am very simple and like to be sincere. I plan every thing. I want quick decisions. I am very straight forward in handling any issue. I am not a good negotiator as I am not a good listener. I am quick in reacting with emotions. I like to maintain a good balance between work and home. I love my family and my children. I like company of my friends. Sometimes I like to be alone. I do not like to boast around about myself, my achievements etc. I give due respect to all my elders. At work I am very supportive to all my colleagues and bosses as long as they are reasonable. I am a strong believer in God and would like to visit more and more temples. I like to listen to carnatic music , Bhajans and discourse in tamil on various epic.


Q2) You are a very deeply religious person, what made you so?

From child hood my mother has built in this habit with regular sloka classes in the morning and daily temple visits etc. Your amma has nurtured it further and given polish and shine to it. For performing religious activities family support is required and I am blessed with it. I feel religion is part and parcel of every individual without which there can be no dynamism in life. It is a lubricant and acts as a good bond to life. All values in life are derived from religion. A creeper requires good support. Religion is similar to that support in life. Creeper can grow without proper support frame also, but it will not be presentable. Likewise people can lead life without religion but to make progress in life religion is required.


Q3) What has been your experience as a devout and religious person? In what way did it change your life?

I strongly believe in God. Every action of ours needs his blessings. My experience is wonderful and you get self confidence and can view all happenings around us in proper perspective.
My level in all religious endeavour is still in ground level but actual requirement is to reach sky level with stars. So in short my position is like having intention to travel but not starting the journey.


Q4) Tell us something about your very interesting and long career.

Yeah. It is truly interesting. I love my job and the line in which I am working. I do not know whether I developed interest after I joined. Because I never aspired for a career in aviation. Even now for any body including me looking at every take off and landing of any aircraft is indeed an enjoyable sight each time and every time. Being near to the civil airport at Ecuador, here also I see a take off and landing every five minutes which is enjoyable whenever I watch. Initially I used to get frustrated with non-functioning individuals and indecisive bosses. But later I realized such people will be there everywhere and reconciled. I used to get frustrated when incompetent people got promotions and bonuses. But later I realised that in their eyes I might look like an incompetent person and I reconciled. Now I have no more frustrations and I realised that in life what ever anybody deserves will automatically fall in line, provided that you continue to do your job at your best and maximum efficiency.


Q5) Leh Ladhak, Thar desert, Ecuador, UK, Tawang and so many other diverse places have been on your travel itinerary. Tell us about what sort of perspective on life all this traveling gave you...

It was the first time I experienced -20 degree Celsius with sleeping bag and one mug of water (If u leave for 5 minutes it will turn in to ice) for all morning requirements etc. Food was good at Army mess. I used to wonder how the locals had been living under those extreme conditions.
Rajasthan another extreme of +48 degree celsius. There also normal activity was going on in scorching heat. Arunachal pradesh was very interesting layout and living on hills.
In UK, I admired their cleanliness of city and their marvelous metro system which they evolved 100 years back. Some metros have 4 levels of underground tracks.
At Ecuador we are in a far away place leaving family .... We are learning a new language- Spanish.


Q6) You allocate a huge amount of importance to the time you spend with your family, tell us something about what sort of a role family has played in your life...

Yes I love my family and my sweet children. Children are so nice to be with and have fun. Nice to be with them and talk to them about small things and play with them etc. Because that is the time parent should pay full attention because, afterwards they grow up and they are on their own. I like to spend time with family. As a parent I have learnt many things from my family. Life is full of learning and continuous and never ending.


Q7) You are a regular practitioner of yoga and you meditate regularly... In what way has this affected your life?

I have spent most of my schooling and college in NCC- for nearly 7 years. Hence that tenure taught me basic discipline in life and orderliness and need for physical fitness. Unless you are physically fit you cannot execute things. That is the basic need in life.

Yoga is one step higher. Other than physical fitness it helps blood circulation to each and every organ in your body and keeps them fit. It keeps the mind balanced and calm. Even Veda emphasises the need to keep the body and mind fit.
Earlier I was simply doing yoga through self learning. Now after I learnt Yoga through a Yoga teacher, Iam able to do it with focal concentration with each part getting exercised. I am getting the benefit of it. That is why I keep telling you guys to practice at least Suryanamaskaram every day along with Pranayamam in daily Sandhyavandan.

Arvee's Satyagraha

The moment Arvee had boarded the train, he had received stares and frowning countenances seemed to stretch all the way to the rear of the coach. Arvee had been forced to travel in the Mixies coach after his surgery, but ever since he had heard the inspirational speech by Clive-52, he had decided not to remain silent and submissive any more.

Arvee was not born a Mixie, it was only after a hover boarding accident while racing with friends at his law school that some of his body parts had to be replaced by bio-mechanical robotic parts. It had been a very tough decision for his parents. His father had never consented to the cyborgation process, he had in fact even suggested euthanasia. However, under section 232.334 of the constitution of the Republic of Sol System of Planets, since Arvee's mother had consented to the cyborgation process, Arvee received a new lease of life.

Arvee though had not been too grateful to his mother, for though he seemed to have changed only on the exterior, with three robotic limbs and a minor base interface implant in his sub thalamus, many of his friends had suddenly turned cold towards him. Arvee had been aware of the disgust with which Mixies were treated by society at large, but he hadn't expected to be clubbed in the same category. Not with such a minor bio-mech replacement surgery. After all, he had grown up watching the controversies that Clive-52 kept getting involved in, and C-52 was no more human than the holo-vision set he used to watch the news bulletins on; or that was what Arvee believed until he himself started to receive the same treatment that C-52 had been put through right from when he had been born.

The day Arvee returned to college after his surgery, his entire universe came crashing down around him. Odd things started happening that morning at the Gravity Train station. Somehow, news of Arvee's surgery had percolated through to the masses. Arvee received many curious stares, but some of the curious stares also had an element of disgust in them. The security personnel on the platform walked up to Arvee just before the GravTrain pulled up at the station and escorted him to the separate coach meant for Mixies. Arvee felt a burning sensation at the back of his neck and his larynx failed him when he attempted to protest.

At school, not one of his previous friends seemed to want to talk to him. Soon, a crowd of some fifty odd persons collected outside the school, mostly consisting of the members of the Socialist Party of Titan (SPT). They raised slogans against the school for having retained Arvee on their rolls. The school administration had tried reasoning with the irate mob; after all, Arvee wasn't exactly a Mixie, with barely visible changes (the robotic limbs were designed to appear natural, they could even perspire), and with no quantum processor brain implants, he was almost as normal as any other kid.

At home that night, Arvee had locked himself in his room and had refused to come out for dinner. His worried mother though couldn't pay attention to him as she had been summoned to the sessions court of Crysdo (formerly known as S III Tethys- a moon of Saturn) to defend Arvee's case against the PIL filed by the SPT.

Arvee switched channels of his holo-vision, only to find his case being scrutinised on almost all the channels. Even Neuroz, one of Arvee's favorite channels which beamed their entertainment programmes directly to the cerebral cortex of the brain had changed their usual programmes and had instead put on a horror programme in which the machines/robots subjugate humanity for centuries until the “Chosen One” manages to destroy the machines and restore humanity to its past glory. On one of the news channels, a cadre of the SPT passionately spoke about how Arvee's father had been against the cyborgation.

Arvee felt like throwing up and his chest felt like it would explode. His vision blanked out and a saline sensation filled his mouth as he bit hard on his tongue. His hand seemed to move of it's own accord as it reached for the remote and soon, the Suicide Help Network's call in programme filled up half of Arvee's room.

Arvee lay slumped on his bed as he watched the programme. When it broke for a commercial, C-52's image filled up the holo-vision. Though a sympathetic government had come to power, C-52's civil rights movement was still largely marginalised, hence most of his campaign's adverts were featured only on non-mainstream channels such as the Suicide Help Network.

C-52 had been born with a debilitating and progressive motor neuron disease. His condition could have been treated with stem cell therapy. However, Lun, where his home was situated was where the pontiff, his Holiness, The Supreme Sumwump presided and stem cell therapy had been banned on Lun a century ago when one of the first colonies were being set up there.

C-52's parents had instead opted to sign him up for an experimental programme in which his brain would be fused with the quantum computing processor of a C-52, fusion fueled spacecraft.

C-52's soothing, deep voice calmed Arvee, and his passionate speech calling for the equal treatment of all humans dislodged the last bit of doubt clouding Arvee's mind. He became convinced that he too deserved to live and nobody had a right to marginalise him or demean him.

The next day, Arvee boarded the regular coach of the GravTrain. As the train freely fell down the tunnel at an acceleration of 9.8 meters per second squared, Arvee's own conviction to fight his fight to a logical and rational end swelled up within him. The stares and frowns around him didn't seem to matter anymore. Suddenly, the brakes of the GravTrain were applied and the train pulled up at a minor service station where passenger trains rarely stopped. The doors blasted open letting in a whiff of dried fish that were being loaded into a goods train docked nearby.

Two bulky security guards marched in and shouted out Arvee's name. When Arvee responded, the two of them roughly picked Arvee up and bodily threw him out of the train. His backpack came flying after him and as it landed, it spewed out it's contents all over the docking station. The doors slid shut and the train whizzed away leaving behind a trail of water vapour as the fusion engine ran at max rpm to work the train up to the required velocity.

Arvee stood up and brushed the dirt off his trousers. His face was red with rage, but he drew in two deep breaths and calmed himself. As he stood there amid the jeering of the workers at the loading bay, Arvee silently swore to never rest until he and the other cyborgs were treated with the respect and dignity that they deserved. Much like another great soul who had stood on the platform of Pietermaritzburg as he resolved to start off Satyagraha, Arvee too fisted his hands and raised it upwards and yelled out to the universe in general, “The day Clive and me and the other cyborgs are treated as humans shall be the day of enlightenment for humanity, until then, my body and mind shall know no rest!”

Hashi Bhaiya- Short Story

For all those who had had a rough night, the following day would invariably start under Hashi Bhaiya's expert stewardship. His push cart which had one day turned up under the Banyan tree near the student's activity center quickly became the one source of solace for Advaith and many of his friends who liked to enjoy the occasional wild night.

As a bleary eyed Advaith walked up to Hashi Bhaiya's corner one sunday, late in the morning, he noticed a long faced fresher sitting on the improvised bench next to the cart. Hashi Bhaiya was preparing his special Sikanjvi, so it quickly became clear to Advaith that something had badly shaken up the “kid”. Advaith had not paid much attention to the freshers that year as the university had tightened it's grip on ragging and had gone to extraordinary lengths to curb the so called social evil. So much so that, the freshers' hostel resembled a jail after sunset.

Advaith gave a nod of acknowledgement to Hashi Bhaiya who returned it with a knowing smile. He knew that the MADS (music and dramatics society) gang had been hanging out at Wadia Bros., the alcohol store/improvised pub, the previous night. Wadia Bros. was an establishment which had for years been the mainstay for all the thirsty souls. It was an alcohol store like none other. With a clinic adjacent to it, the frequent visitors to this watering hole par excellence quite often joked amongst themselves about how TIP (This Is Punjab, inspired by the movie “Blood Diamond”) the entire set-up was. There were plastic chairs and tables on the pavement in front of the store with a tiny tin shed to one side which served starters for those who preferred their drinks with something spicy.

Hashi Bhaiya served the fresher his drink and counseled him about surviving the initial bout of home sickness that most freshers go through. Advaith stopped worrying about the “kid”, he almost felt a supercilious emotion; he looked towards the fresher for one last time with a condescending smile. The “kid” nervously looked away; Advaith decided to leave him alone and instead turned his gaze upon Hashi Bhaiya who had prepared the pick me up that he knew Advaith would eventually order. Advaith accepted his Pudhina (mint) tea with deep gratitude which he somehow managed to convey to Hashi Bhaiya through his puffy, bloodshot eyes. “A plate of chole kulche will do you a lot of good, don't skip breakfast Puttar”, said Hashi Bhaiya in rich, flowing, Punjabi accented Hindi. Advaith readily accepted the offered plate, knowing that the mess in his hostel would have stopped serving breakfast this late in the morning.

A light drizzle started and Hashi Bhaiya quickly moved his push cart further into the recesses of the shade provided by the banyan tree. One of the wheels had long since rusted and the cart moved only when Hashi Bhaiya threw his considerable bulk behind it. Advaith sipped on his tea while he gently tested the waters as he attempted to slip back into the turbulent pool of consciousness.

“Why don't you get your wheels repaired Bhaiya?” asked Advaith through the slowly clearing haze clouding his mind.

“My customers and children that I love are all here, what need do I have to move my cart?”

Advaith returned to his hostel to get back to his books. He had had enough of fun and it was time he got started with his studies since campus placement season was about to begin. His resolve to cut out the distractions even led him to refuse to answer Sachi's, his girlfriend, calls. He had reasoned that he could always have fun again, all he had to do was abstain for a couple of months and he could always make up for it later.

Twenty years later, Advaith found himself returning to his campus, which apart from a few shiny buildings remained very much the same familiar home away from home. He had indeed managed to land a lucrative position with an MNC, and for twenty years since the day he had refused to answer Sachi's phone call, he had had little or none of the kind of fun that he had grown accustomed to during his four years on campus. On the day he had been promoted to the top position which put him in charge of the Indian wing of his company, he had received an email from his institutes's Training and Placement Cell requesting for an appointment.

The email sent a jolt of excitement through his body. For twenty years he had worked eighty hour weeks and never had he even contemplated a vacation until that moment. Putting all activities on hold, he called his institute to let them know that an appointment with his offices would be unnecessary as he had decided to personally visit the institute.

As the cab neared the familiar marble decorated gates, Advaith felt like a child entering a toy store. He felt like whooping and jumping in the air.

The two hours with the dean of industrial liaison turned out to be a drawn out affair, Advaith was reminded of all the red tape that he and his friends had to cut through during the many times they had had to organise tech-fests or cul-fests.

He was relieved when he finally was able to step out of the dean's office and walk out onto the campus. He walked around his erstwhile favourite haunts and spent ageless moments gazing at the many once familiar spots. Now that Advaith was taking a close look, what emerged was almost perverse. The innumerable nooks and corners of the campus which had once been an integral part of Advaith's universe had all changed in some small way or the other. There were a couple of new buildings, but what was more alarming was the smaller changes. The Gulmohar tree under which he had first met his girlfriend had grown taller and seemed somehow, older and weaker with many branches cut off. As he rounded the corner around the student's activities center, his mind flew to a moment which had occurred twenty years ago, to a moment spent in the company of Hashi Bhaiya. He dreaded what seemed to him the inevitable. It felt like all the omens and portends which had built up a sense of foreboding in Advaith were all meant to climax at this moment when he would turn the corner...

And there he was, with a lot more grays in his hair, and his push cart missing a wheel entirely. The three other wheels had developed a lot more rust. Advaith walked up to the cart with palpitations building up in his chest. Would Hashi Bhaiya recognise him, would it be just like the old times, or would this too be another perverse metamorphosis, alien to the treasured forms that he held so close to his bosom?

“Why so jittery? Sit, I'll make you some Pudhina chai- Baijao- sit.”

Advaith walked around the cart to take his usual place on the bench, wondering if Hashi Bhaiya had actually recognised him. He accepted his tea with shaking hands and drank half the contents in one go. Hashi Bhaiya had remembered how Advaith would insist on being served chai which was not too hot, but at just the right temperature. However, he was still unsure, the tea had only increased his heart beat rate and had made him even more protective of his memories. If he opened up now, it would only make him more vulnerable.

“Have you been in touch with Sachi?” asked Hashi Bhaiya.

A shocked expression was all that Advaith could muster up in terms of a reply to the question.

“Ha Ha! Drink your tea first, then we can talk.”

The laugh too had remained unchanged, Advaith's temporary lapse from sanity was remedied by the Pudhina Chai.

“It is only you children who forget us, can any father stop thinking about any of his children?” said Hashi Bhaiya with a saintly smile on his face.

Advaith's throat had developed a curious condition, no matter how hard he tried to swallow, his saliva refused to flow down his oesophagus.

“You haven't been in touch with Sachi have you? Look puttar, money, power, fame are all things that we thirst for, it is only love that can actually quench our thirst. Sachi is also here in Jhelum hostel, she is doing her post doctorate, go meet, who knows, maybe something good will happen. Ha Ha! Wipe the drool off your face puttar, you look like you have just seen a ghost!”

Advaith recovered enough to laugh along with Hashi Bhaiya. For the next two hours, he sat under the banyan tree enjoying himself like he never had over the past twenty years.

“Theek hai puttar, enough time you have spent with this old man. I have a special treat for you!” said Hashi Bhaiya as he whipped out his mobile phone.

That evening was the first of the innumerable evenings that Advaith would eventually spend in the loving company of Sachi.

Four Little Red Pigs

Four little red pigs waddled up the hill
"Why did the farmer sharpen his sickle?"
The first little red pig asked his siblings

"To harvest his crop of paddy in his fields"
"Isn't it obvious?" said the second little pig

"But isn't his crop of paddy all still green?"
"So why did the farmer sharpen his sickle?"

To answer her third little red piggy brother
The fourth little red pig said the following:
"We've all grown very fat haven't you noticed?"
"To escape a stewy doom we must waddle over the hill"

Rejoice!

Cracks in the parched Earth
Invitingly dark and deep
If only I could bury my burning body
away from the harsh white heat

The dusty blazing wind in my face
turns it into a clayey cake
It howls Death's grand name
and cackles at my stooped figure

I squint into the blue expanse
for a glimpse of Monsoon's bounty
Alas, the searing heat burns my retina
leaving behind a white noose

With waistlines thin as my scrawny rooster's neck
My children await me at the threshold of my hut
My wife smiles as our eyes meet
With as much passion as our loving first gazes
Alas, this wasn't a smile in anticipation of Life
This was a smile of a soul to be released
Death shall be my children's first and last love!
Rejoice! Rejoice!

Baisakhi

Rejoice my love, for 'tis time to sharpen the sickle
The Punjabis are dancing their colorful Bhangra
Kashmiris enjoy a last game of cricket on the Dal
The Tamils are boiling their sweet savoury Pongal
The beautiful Malayali girls are plucking flowers

The fiery chariot drawn by seven horses blazes across
The sickle is sharp now, my Love!
'tis time to harvest our souls, for crops we have none
Death's embrace do we seek, kiss me one last time!

A True Life Story

The frail wrinkled hand reached for the remote. Overhead the rickety ceiling fan swept the dense, humid air as it futilely attempted to comfort Rajaram.

The black and white television set had long since given up the ghost and mostly displayed faint, grainy images accompanied by barely discernible sounds.

Rajaram however attributed the low quality of his television viewing experience to his failing vision and hearing.

He lethargically browsed through the few free channels that streamed through his dish antenna and found yet another serial which had a storyline and characters similar to the five others he had already seen since the morning.

His morning had been just like the ninety five mornings he had spent in his personal room at the nursing centre. Ninety six mornings before that day however had been anything but routine.

He had had a restless and lonely night. Not exactly lonely though, for had he been just lonely, it would have been unremarkable given that he had no family. On that night, a dull pain in his chest kept him company.

Saying that he had no family would also be slightly inaccurate. No, he had an ex-wife and two children somewhere in the vast Indian sub-continent. However, ever since he had severed ties with his wife, he had become so much like the floating jetsam of a wrecked ship, floating all by himself in the ocean called life.

His two sisters had tried to mend his marriage, only to face the egotistical wrath of Rajaram.

The television set continued to weakly beam an episode of a serial that Rajaram had been a regular watcher of for the past three years. He had felt an instant connection with the protagonist's husband. The story had begun in much the same way as his life had.

The “husband” had been an IAS officer, just like Rajaram had been one. The “husband's” family too had arranged his marriage with a well educated woman who was a General Physician.

Rajaram had been amused by the similarities between his own life and that of the “husband” in the serial.

The “husband” in the serial too was an egotist and a male chauvinist. He too had believed that the right place for a woman was to be by her husband's side. Much like the “husband”, Rajaram had been irked by the fact that Susila, his wife, was a successful private medical practitioner who made much more than what his paltry “government salary” amounted to. This had led to a great deal of tension and ultimately, the protagonist left her husband's home and went elsewhere with her children.

However, this was where the similarities ended. In the serial, the “husband” realized the error of his ways and after suffering many privations of the soul and mind (which was very melodramatically portrayed by the director) he re-established contact with his wife and attempted to get back together.

Rajaram's life had however been very different. A few months after Susila had left him, his sisters had come to him with the news that she had moved to Bombay and had become the director of a prestigious medical facility.

With demented eyes, he had thrown his sisters out of his bungalow when one of them had mentioned that Susila had become immensely wealthy.

A few years after having alienated himself from his siblings, he had been discharged dishonourably from the Civil Services after a popular newspaper had exposed his “under the table” deals with many industrialists.

Rajaram felt cheated. After all, he had only been trying to right a wrong, how dare a woman earn more than her husband? Life had continued its downward spiral as Rajaram drowned his frustrations in alcohol and cigarettes. Not even his ill gotten wealth could support him as he frittered it away on booze, drugs and random sluts who he would pick off the streets.

The image in the television set flickered and became grainier than before as the final episode of the serial came to an end. It was followed by an interview of the director.

As previously stated, ninety six mornings before that day, Rajaram awoke to a lovely spring day with an ear piercing scream as the dull pain in his chest had spiked in intensity.

The ambulance ride and the three days in the ICU had been a blur. Three days later, the doctor had come up to him and told him that his death was imminent and that all that medicine could do for him had already been attempted. They had helped him find the 24x7 nursing facility where they had promised to manage his pain and make death as comfortable as possible.

The last of his savings in his Swiss Bank account had had to be withdrawn to pay for the enormous fee of the nursing centre.

The interview with the director seemed to be dragging on, so Rajaram reached for the remote but stopped in his tracks when he heard the director say that the story had been based on a true life story. He went on to reveal that he had been a ten year old when his parents had broken up and his mother had never once spoken about his father after she had moved away with the children. He went on to say that his mother had died three years ago when his serial had gone on air. Towards the end of the interview, he pleaded with tear filled eyes for any information regarding Rajaram, his father.

The fan continued to sweep the dense, humid air downwards towards a Rajaram wearing a shocked expression on his face, his hands limp on the remote as he painlessly suffered his final myocardial infraction.

Guest Post- What's Your Problem?

Hello, what follows was written by my brother- Arjun. He promised to give me a short story, but ended up giving me this. But I shall still pester him until he gives me a short story...

At a time when the whole world is reeling under the combined effect of climate change, recession, starvation, malnutrition and terrorism, it seems quite amusing that so many people find the time to make mountains out of seemingly non-existent mole hills.

Just the other day, a front page article in a supplementary newspaper waxed on endlessly about the commercialization of the ongoing IPL. The author seemed to have a big problem with the use of certain phrases, like “DLF Maximum” and “a CITI moment of success”, by the commentators; this, while the little boy collecting newspapers from homes, or his friend who cleans the tables at restaurants, seem to have escaped the authors hawk-like vision. Of course, child labour is boring and passé.

When the largest democracy in the world wakes up to vote, can controversy be far behind? The dirty face of politics obviously left an impression on the “Aam Admi” in the run up to the elections, and he felt duty-bound to put pen to paper. Just a day or two before Gujarat went to the polls, the “Letters To The Editor” section of a popular newspaper was flooded with the words of anxious citizens of the nation baying for the blood of one Mr. Modi. He was accused of being a criminal and the mastermind of a genocide. They went on to denounce Mr. Modi’s participation in the elections and demanded his immediate withdrawal from the race. So much for “innocent until proven guilty”. Another section of the Indian Public seemed to have a problem with Sonia Gandhi, arguably the most powerful woman in India, being of Italian birth. In the process, unfortunately, the big issues of farmer suicides, low voter turnout in many constituencies including the National Capital, poverty, heat waves, power cuts and crop failures don’t seem to be on the agenda.

I guess it is human nature to find the tiniest of flaws in any given situation. Consider this example. Nowadays, it seems to be the ‘in thing’ to hate politicians. If one is a politician, then one is written off as an overweight, under-educated and corrupt individual. We must learn to appreciate before we deliver our criticism. The entire nation runs on the will power of these very same politicians. We are ready to jump down their throats at the slightest hint of a mistake, yet, how many of us thank them when a new power plant is installed, or a stretch of road is repaired. Forget politicians. How many of us thank the auto-driver as we alight from his vehicle?

In spring 2008, the world was stunned by the Josef Fritzl case. Leading news channels all over the world broadcast the story. Recently, a case of similar nature, involving a man, his daughter, his wife and a ‘tantric’, was unraveled in Namma Bengalooru, but the story disappeared after just a short article in a newspaper.


Each day, thousands of animals face a gruesome death in China as they are skinned alive for their fur, and all we worry about is how poorly India was portrayed in ‘Slumdog Millionaire’. However much we may dislike it, majority of Indians live below the poverty line. India does have the largest and the most number of slums. Instead of whining, how many of us actually tried to change that statistic? How many of us pocket a chocolate wrapper instead of littering the road?
It’s time we woke up and asked ourselves what our problem really is.

Arranged Marriages

I am going to state at the very outset that I am against the very concept of arranged marriages as it is practised in India. So, yes, this little essay is going to be heavily biased, but what the heck, this is my blog after all and I should be allowed to say what I truly feel. The only problem is that my folks back at home are eventually going to read this, and let me tell you, you cannot find a more orthodox and conservative tamil brahmin family anywhere else.

Firstly, I do not get the whole idea of the caste system. Shockingly, our IT boom did not help us lose our pretentious divisions, it led to the creation of matrimonial websites which shamelessly and openly flaunt the adverts placed by many desperate people out there.

It disgusts me when I see one of these typical adverts which usually run like this: "Software engineer, IIT grad, working with MNC, looking for tall, fair, housewife of such and such caste and such and such gotra"

Many proponents of the arranged marriages cite the extremely low divorce rate in India, which is at present 1.1% and compare this with the much higher divorce rate in USA, which is 48%. Simply put, this argument is bull-crap! The divorce rate is not high in India because our society still frowns upon those who choose to leave an unhappy marriage. Partners in a malfunctioning marriage are usually expected to grit their teeth and hang in there no matter what.

It doesn't matter if their mental health keeps taking a beating every single day that they spend with each other forcibly, it doesn't matter that their psyche takes a beating when they are forced to sleep on separate beds because they cannot stand the sight of each other, it doesn't matter if their children face abuse and mental trauma from all the bitching and fighting everyday, because what really matters is family reputation and honour isn't it?

Women in the USA are not like the women in India who have been and are being oppressed. A woman here is usually perceived as nothing more than a house-maker and as a baby producing machine. As my biology teacher put it, the reason behind India's failure at population control is nothing more than "lack of recreation". Women are even today traded like livestock, the only difference is that people pay the seller for the livestock; in the case of women, the seller pays the husband a huge dowry to take away his daughter! Even educated women quietly consent to marriages wherein they are forced to play second fiddle, where they are forbidden from studying further or from working.

It is the double edged sword of lack of women empowerment and the ferocious, feral need for societal approval that has contributed towards India's low divorce rates.

Now I am not saying that arranged marriages go hand in glove with dowries or with the trend of subjugation of women. I do concede that many open minded people today are not averse to the idea of an empowered woman. Many have awoken and said no to dowries. But the fact remains that arranged marriages still do function on the principle of marrying within your own community.

We are a nation of bigots who make a loud hue and cry when a pretty face receives racist comments on some game show on UK's cable TV, go figure!

The Giant's Fall

The blank white noise of terror gripped at the pit of the giant’s belly. For years had he terrorized the denizens of nearby villages, for years had he exploited his natural gift of greater size and stature to subjugate the peasants. For years had he fed off the plates of the tillers of the soil and grown old and fat, his family had grown in size and he had begotten limbless offspring, for they had adapted to a life of ease and lack of need to exercise one’s limbs to eke out a living.

With time, his sight failed, his muscles weakened, his nimble limbs grew limp. The villages at the extremity of his realm withdrew from his liege-ship. Gradually his radius of influence shrunk and the day came when it shriveled to nothing. The wronged peasants drew up their cudgels and the frenzied mob frothed towards the cave of the fallen subjugator.

Ebullient blood cascaded out the hillside, the giant putting up a last stand, a clamorous battle ensued. In a last bid, the giant, with pulsating, raging veins beat back the rebels, and then, exhausted, he fell like a huge oak tree being felled.

One fat green eyed peasant settled the others. With soothing oily words, he convinced them that he would be a good replacement for the giant. The farmers picked him up on their shoulders and declared him their new liege-lord. The oldest, frailest among them remembered the moment many decades ago when the fallen giant started out in much the same way as the scene that was playing out now.

With a frantic palpitating heart, he shouted out a warning, “Fools! Don’t you see, he is the same as your fallen foe lying before you.

The bearers smiled, “Fret not old one, young be we, but not foolish!” They hurried out of the cave and quickly ascended to the summit of the mount, and with one powerful heave, they ejected their green eyed brother over the edge.

Happy Wedding Day Ma and Pa!


The waves rolled gently into the shore,

the sun played on the sand,

the light drizzle adorned the sky with a rainbow.

The two children played without a care

Ma and Pa stood by ever watchful

looking out for the storm and lightning



Never a moment's rest did they seek

Forever watchful they remained

Their bond of marriage, a golden hammock

upon which the children romped and matured

A home did they build with bricks of love

mortared with happiness and peace.



A few summers before, on this very day

the foundation had been laid

Do you see the stars celebrate?

Yonder, the birds sing and the very Earth

brims with joyous bounty to mark the day

My verses though weak flow from my heart

Please do accept my best wishes and love

The Queer

To the peaks, cried the voice. In a hurry, they swarmed up the slopes. The queer ran ahead, with his shiny white butt exposed to the world.
Everyone has a red butt, like a baboon, how dare he practice witchcraft of an unnatural nature to morph the pigmentation of his butt to white?

In a frenzy they bore the torches with flames flaring high, with a pungent odour of hatred did their breath flume out of their flared nostrils. Chanting their leader's limericks, they proceeded with self righteous zeal, their quarry with a white shiny butt remaining but a fraction of a yard ahead. To the summit did force the mad crowd, the white butted queer looks over the edge to find a sheer drop. Turning around, he faces the frothing mob. In his desperation, he looks upwards to find clouds with leering gazes towards his shiny white butt.

The rioting mob proceeded forth with a united blood-thirst and a loud piercing cry which awoke a pensive monk from his contemplation of the infinite. He appeared with a trail of vapour before the rabid rioters, his calm, electrifying gaze stopped them in their tracks. Through his aura of blue electric arcs, the queer could be seen with a dumbstruck expression on his brow.

What be this soul's misdeed that merits such repercussions from society queried the ascetic suspended before the mob.
He holds the magical skills of sinister potential, he is capable of alchemy which turns our proud race's red butts into disgraceful shiny white butts.

I am capable of even greater alchemy you insane fools. Of powerful energy be I possessed, now shall I smote you all with some of my purifying piety. As fools did you summit this mount, now I shall make you turn tail as enlightened, clearer minds.

The queer returned home a normal person that night and thanked the great soul who came to his timely rescue. White or red mattered not any more, peace was restored until another issue were to surface.

High Times-2

“Who runs the show?” asked the man in green, with fledgling limbs. In reply, he hears noise of a strange tongue, of Betelgeuse and Irish it was a mix.

Of greater wisdom the man grew, black and white suits him fine. “Who is bad and who is good?” asked the man in black and white. In reply he hears laughter of cackling disdain. “Black I know not of young one, and neither be I acquainted with White. All I see is a twilight grey, of no man's land be I.”

Upward did rise the man on the scale of life. Of grey whiskers and greyer attire be he now. “What is my purpose?” asked the man in grey, “where does my twisted path lead?”
“Grey be the no man's land where a man's stuff be not made of purpose, of unclear knowledge be he of the grey hue. All I see is the golden path of sacrifice and asceticism.” said the hermit in reply.

Further toward the zenith did rise the man of golden heart and ascetic exterior. Of virtue be now his stuff made, of twisted paths he cares not, with a known but still unknown destination in mind, seeks he the bliss of unknown quality. “Why is everything?” asks the man of gold.
“That be not the question that us the hue-less seek, of lesser words be our question framed.”

Up or down matters not any more, suffice to say, the man progressed, of hue-less quality be his interior and exterior. Of austerity be now his path made, with hurdles of the mind preceding foremost. “What?” asked the man of colourless identity.
“Be you now close to what thou seek”, said the voice of nothing and everything, of the infinitesimal and the infinite.

Of un-followable path did the non-identity take, of everything and nothing did the non-identity learn... of bliss and violence.... of the infinite and the infinitesimal....

High Times-1

A deep dark recess juts right through a huge boulder. As I enter into this, a huge lizard which looks more like a dragon is seen approaching at a tremendous pace with its tail whipping about and tongues of flame licking about its mouth.

I dance around the monster's mouth, stepping in and out of range, when all of a sudden, my vision projects forwards, almost as if my eyes have been moved forward through a long tunnel, straight into the throat of the monster, where I see the source of the flame. An orb of fire much like the sun remains suspended near the base of the throat of the lizard. The orb had a fiery female form dancing at the very core. The lizard reminded me of the frustrating admin of our university, the desires and distractions along my path to gaining the orb of knowledge. The lizard tried its best to close its jaws lined with the sharp and menacing teeth on me.

With a lot of luck, I manage to somehow grab the orb and free her from the grip of the dragon whose jaws prevented her from spreading her light to the whole world. With the orb I race out of the recess which was now flooded in dazzling light. As I exit the crack, I find myself in a thorny valley with green slopes populated with menacing gorillas and other lizards. Hundreds of these creatures surround me as I try to escape with the orb which has now changed form and has taken the shape of a girl with flames dancing around her.

As the creatures closed in on me, the situation started to look dire. However, when I seek a way out of my predicament by consulting the fiery female form besides me, I immediately gain reassurance and my anxiety was replaced by a new found determination.

The flames danced all around me and a fiery circle started expanding from the very centre, repelling all the creatures as it advanced outwards. The surrounding darkness was gradually consumed by the light from the centre of the ever expanding circle. A fiery and flaming tower of manic proportions jets vertically upwards into the sky and the light starts to engulf the entire planet. Many centres of darkness resisted the light, a battle ensued with sometimes the darkness prevailing over the light and sometimes, the other way around. Gradually, the light managed to engulf the entire planet, that was when my vision zoomed outwards at an unimaginable speed and soon I could see entire galaxies going through the same process of the alternating between light and darkness. Whenever an entire galaxy became engulfed with light, a few streaks of light would escape from the galaxy and disappear out of the universe, going to some place which I was unable to imagine.

Whenever an entire galaxy would be lit up completely, there would be a short period during which a few streaks of light would escape out of the known universe. After some time though, small parts of the lit area would start growing dark, cracks would appear, and gradually there would be more and more areas of darkness, and soon, the entire galaxy would be plunged into darkness. This process would go on alternating...

The only thing that I could conclude was that true freedom would be obtained only when we decide to search for that something which we truly require... for me that something is knowledge. In this age of instant gratification seekers, it has become something of a rarity to witness anyone thinking deeper about the realities of life and the universe. A few minutes of self contemplation can go a long way to help a person gain a perspective on their lives.

My Ubuntu Experience

About three months ago, I installed ubuntu on my laptop mainly because XP had frustrated me with constant virus problems and slow execution of programs. Initially, I kept both XP and ubuntu, but when the virus problem escalated to such a level that XP became unusable, I totally switched over to ubuntu.

I must admit that there were a few minor hiccups along the way, and there still are, but there are many more problems when it comes to any MS OS. Besides, the only thing that I had to do was to run a simple Google search for the ubuntu forum addressing the particular problem that I was facing, and voilà, the problem would be solved!

Apart from the above obvious reasons for switching to ubuntu, there were other tiny factors which cemented my transition from years of MS usage to Linux. The most important was that the OS was very simple to use. I am no coder, and I always imagined that linux was for the geeky coder or developer. Oh boy was I wrong! Even finding applications for any specific need is simple, all you have to do is open up this application which automatically searches for the programs, downloads them and installs them. I simply had to check the box next to the search results and the program was downloaded and installed, absolutely no hassles.

If you are used to the windows applications, fret not. The open source community is constantly evolving to produce amazing new applications which can not only claim their right as alternatives to the windows programs, but can claim to be superior. I guess the advantage is that in the open source community, the everyday user has the capability to modify the program in any way to suit his/her particular needs. This way, many of the programs have ended up with innovative and nifty features which set them apart from the proprietary software. Just take the example of Mozzila Firefox which is an open source project, do I need say more?

Talking about the graphics, all I can say is AWESOME! I even managed to run popular windows compatible games like counter strike on my ubuntu using a windows emulator called wine.

Now when you put all the above things together, what do you get? An awesome computing experience with which you are bound to fall in love with. Trust me, I'm totally smitten!

A view of a flooded rice field near Senchi, Tamil Nadu. Senchi (or Gingee as it was known during the colonial period) is an old town. Historically, Senchi was the capital of the kingdom of Desingh Raja. Today, you can still see the forts that stand atop two hills. The palaces and various other structures are very interesting to say the least, and if you manage to climb to the top of the hill housing the King's Durbar, you will be delighted by the amazing view. Best time to visit this place is in the winter months of Nov-Jan.



A view from atop the Malana valley in Himachal Pradesh. It was one crazy experience. Three of us were bored and a long stretch of holidays were coming up, so we packed our bags and caught a bus to HP. Once we got there, we decided to go to Malana. Malana is a remote tribal village with strange customs,beliefs and terrific views of the Himalayas. Also worth mentioning about Malana is the huge amount of Hashish that is processed there. It is said to be one of the world's best in terms of quality...

My Autorikshaw Bright!

Putt, putt, putt
I start out from my hut
early in the morning light

Putt, putt, putt
I roam the streets left and right
in my autorikshaw bright

Putt, putt, putt
The policeman demands his cut
You'd be a fool if you chose
to show him your butt

Putt, putt, putt
I carry a foreigner, white
in my autorikshaw bright
my meter runs like a jet flight

Putt, putt, putt
my pocket's not any more light
as i drive into the morning bright!
Alas, i run out of fuel, shite!
so i drive into the station, right
only to receive a bloody fright!
What with wars in Iraq mate (Note: Aussie accent for mate :))
my pocket's restored to being light.

But, but, but
i still have my autorikshaw, bright
as i drive along the streets, left and right!

The Killing

He stood staring at his shadow
At the long dark patches of grass
As the sun dipped to meet the sea
His spirits sunk even lower

What black vistas was his mind visiting?
What dark dungeons was his heart held in?
What did the smiling babe see
that caused this metamorphosis?

His brother lies dead near his feet
His hands still hold the red blade
His heart still races as he recounts
the last sputtering breath of the dead

Does his soul weep to see
the carnage wreaked by his hands?
To kill a brother is one thing
but to do it cos his God is not yours...

Alas, we are mistaken my friend
He smiles as the black face that smiles green
to see the briefcase finally arrived
with the cash for the deed performed

The Interview

Saravan was on his usual rounds, the milking grounds that he was accustomed to seemed to beckon to him with a filial love. The relentless, sticky heat of the summer had forced even the dogs off the streets, but Saravan was on a mission. With his brow shining brighter than the waxed, metallic bodies of the cars lining the street, he opened the gate of the first house on the street.

Mrs. Shanmugam opened the door and recognized Saravan immediately. She was a lady in her late fifties and was the type that had never been employed in her entire lifetime. Her purpose in life had been to marry and to care for the children and the household. A victim of her times, when it had been considered improper for a woman to aspire for a corporate life. The little of the home that one could catch a glimpse of behind Mrs. Shanmugam's girth evoked a strange emotion in Saravan, he couldn't define the emotion, though many of the readers would easily be able to identify with the emotion: the emotion that one feels when visiting one's home, where one feels secure and cared for, a safe womb where none of the evils of the world can touch us.

Saravan though had never had a home, the initial stages of his boyhood had been spent on the streets. He had no memory of his mother, only that of his older brother who had cared for him while on the streets. The latter part of his childhood had been spent in the 'Sri Sai' orphanage. The streets of Bangalore had not been kind to young Saravan, he had been brought into the orphanage by some kind, caring gent who had found Saravan lying in a garbage heap in a stupor induced by inhaling the fumes of “ErazeX”. Despite the best efforts of the staff, they couldn't coax a single word out of young Saravan for months together. However when Saravan finally started speaking, he turned out to be a fast learner...

Mrs. Shanmugam had become accustomed to Saravan's monthly visits, she threw her door as wide open as her comely smile, which again evoked an emotion in Saravan which most of us would associate with the motherly figures in our lives. Mrs. Shangmugam's children had all grown up and flown out from under her wings, so it had been just her and her husband for the past five years. Saravan had always reminded her of her own son, Raghu. After all, Saravan tended to visit her more often than Raghu and had more patience when it came to making conversation with an old lady.

On that particular day however, Mrs. Shanmugam seemed rather excited, after having offered Saravan a glass of sweet buttermilk, she told him that Raghu had arrived that morning and that she would love for them to meet.

Raghu, a strapping young man in his thirties had come to Bangalore because he had grown rather bored of his job at a KPO. He had had enough of the relentless work cycles and the madness of New York city. In search of greener pastures, he had posted his resume on a website and had been called for an interview, which was the reason for Raghu's presence in Bangalore.

Raghu and Saravan however didn't get off on the right footing...

“What is it that you exaclty do Mr. Saravan?” asked Raghu.
“I am here to collect donations for the Sri Sai orphanage, I come once every month, Mrs. S has been kind enough to donate over the past two years.”

“Don't take this the wrong way Mr. Saravan, but I have seen a lot of people like you in my life. You could have been able to run this charade to fool my mother, but I don't want you bothering us any more. If you would excuse me now, I have an interview to attend.”

Saravan chose not to react, he had come across such people before and had resigned himself to the fact that humanity is capable of widely varying behaviour, ranging from the comely charm of Mrs. Shanmugam to the ruthlessness that Raghu shares with many others.

Mrs. Shanmugam squirming with immense discomfiture could not make eye contact with Saravan, when she finally managed to look at Saravan as he was closing the gate, she was instantly put at ease by Saravan who flashed her one of his huge smiles that he was famous for; twenty eight of his thirty two fine pearly whites were flashed at Mrs. Shanmugam.

The day his brother had died of dehydration on the street corner adjacent to Manipal hospital on 'Airport Road', had been the day when a certain Ms. Indra Gandhi had ceased control of the entire nation. Saravan would have surely followed suit had it not been for the saviour. Saravan had been dipping in and out of consciousness and could hardly remember the events of that particular day, but he had created a mental image of the kind gentleman who had taken concern for the dying child on the streets. Saravan had imagined his saviour as a man with balding hair and a pot belly and a huge smile on his face, just like his own. He had imagined him as having red stained teeth as a result of having chewed on betel leaves and paan, he had imagined him as having a deep laugh which emanated from somewhere deep in his rotund belly. Saravan was almost spot on as far as the physical appearances go. What Saravan will never know is that his 'saviour' was none other than Chota Fatir, a leading don of the kidney trade in the state of Karnataka. Chota Fatir was dissapointed when he found out that Saravan's kidneys could not be harvested as they had been through too many rough days.

Saravan had then been abandoned on the roadside by his saviour and had been picked up by a constable. Though Saravan has no memory of the constable, he ought to be more thankful towards him rather than Chota Fatir, because, the constable only wished to pin a petty crime on Saravan to close a case of his, he had no evil intentions such as harvesting kidneys.

When Saravan awoke from his stupor, he found himself in a state sponsored remand home for deviant children. The care that his posterior was provided by two or three caring gentlemen at that home impacted him so deeply that he would find it hard to be able to speak for another six months during which he would be transferred to the 'Sri Sai' orphanage.

Raghu had been experiencing intense bouts of anxiety since the morning. He kept thinking about what would happen if he were to not get the job. There weren't many companies hiring outsiders into top level positions, if he were to miss this opportunity, he would be forced to join elsewhere at a much lower position. Mrs. Shanmugam had forced Raghu to go to the temple with her where she bragged to the priest about her son and managed to somehow increase the anxiety of her son by displaying utter confidence in Raghu's abilities.

After having gone through his resume the eleventh time while looking into the mirror, he decided to take a break and that was when he walked into the living room to find Saravan. After having vented his frustration, he returned to his room to check his attire one last time.

Raghu was one of the last to be called in to the interview. His nervousness had been steadily building as he sat in the foyer studying each of his competitors as they walked in to the interview room. He tried studying their emotions and expressions as they walked out of the room, but that only increased his feeling of foreboding and doom.

When the receptionist finally called out his name, he was so strung up that he literally jumped out of his seat.

As he entered the room, he remembered the self help books that had stressed on the importance of establishing a rapport with the interviewers. Raghu looked at each one in the eye while maintaining a confident gait towards them. As he looked at the third man seated on the right next to the lady in the blue dress, he received a warm smile from Saravan who welcomed him and pointed invitingly at the chair meant for him. “Hello Mr. Raghu, please meet our CEO, Mr. Saravan who wanted to be personally present during this interview, I hope you understand the important nature of the job position that we have to offer.” said the lady in the blue dress.

Raghu simply sputtered out a muted response. Saravan looked at Raghu in the eye and said, “Mr. Raghu, I am willing to forget the incident that occured this morning, I request you to be calm and composed during this interview as I believe that you are one of the frontrunners for this job based on my preliminary assessment of your CV.”

Saravan had had difficulty when he first moved into Sri Sai orphanage, but when he finally opened up, his teachers were amazed by his sharp mind. Saravan had had no difficulty obtaining a scholarship for his college education. Though he had been offered a seat in IIM Bangalore, he turned it down, prefering to start a consultancy service with a friend of his. His teachers back at the orphanage were not surprised when Saravan's start up became one of the biggest consultancy companies of India in a few short years. But they were indeed surprised when Saravan turned up one day at the orphanage and volunteered to collect donations. His friend playfully said that Saravan was such a big miser that to avoid donating cash from his own pocket, he had volunteered to do the door to door collection. However, his friend too knew about the monthly sums of money that enriched the coffers of the orphanage were from Saravan's personal bank account.

Raghu was indeed the most experienced and qualified guy for the job and Saravan made sure that Raghu was selected for the position. Saravan knew better than to perpetuate hate and irrationality. Besides, he had never mixed business with emotions. Raghu went home that night, removed the poster of Jimmi Hendrix from his wall and replaced it with a blown up photo of his new favorite rockstar, Saravan.

Lost Minds

The King of the Dead stood atop his pedestal
His drones milled around, drinking in words of venom
Ages ago, the King had killed the minds of his minions
Though he permitted them to keep their hollow skulls
into which He filled as he pleased.

Far across the distant horizon
A sparkling mind arose, competing with the sun
The King awoke in his Kingdom of Darkness
and beheld the fiery Soul's heroic attempts;
As he plodded through the surrounding muck
And became embattled with beasts most fearsome
that attempted to steal his flaming core

Persist he did and reached he the gates
of a fortress most dark that the Sun balked
but the light of reason pervaded the Dark
of manic proportions a battle ensued
to gain a quarter, none managed
The battle rages relentlessly, incessantly
Some remain drones, while some have new minds
To foretell of the result, I know not
But be thee wise to choose the side that befits you!

Alampoondi

Winter in Alampoondi signified slightly chilly nights and misty mornings. The month of December brought with it the promise of a good harvest and the Tamil month of Margazhi- the month said to correspond with the morning hour of the Gods, the month in which the fiery chariot of the Sun turns around at the tropic of Capricorn and returns back to the Northern hemisphere, the month in which all the temples open at four in the morning and loudspeakers blare out songs and bhajans.

Alampoondi is a tiny village in Tamil Nadu situated near the famous forts of Gingee where Raja Desingh had valiantly resisted the onslaught of the Mughal invaders from the North only to be treacherously betrayed by a close aide. The village is also home to an ancient temple of Shiva, the destroyer; it is said to be an ancient spot where great men had lived in penance, though in India, it is indeed hard to find a village without a temple or some sort of an association with ancient mythology.

Alampoondi also holds a close place in my heart as this village is where my ancestral home is. My great grandfather moved to this village at the age of twenty five with his wife and two children in tow. My grandfather was at the tender age of 7 when his family had made this transition from Pilasur. Pilasur happens to be nearly a 100 Km from Alampoondi, and during those times of joint families, it was uncommon for people to break away and move out of one’s village.

My grandfather had never revealed to anyone the true story of our forefathers, until one starry night when all his children and grandchildren had gathered in the home built by his father in Alampoondi, he made a suggestion which made all the children squeal with delight and caused the adults to groan. He suggested that we have dinner on the terrace under the starry gallery. The children gladly ran up the stairs carrying the pots, pans and the various other dishes that were handed out to them. The older children were put in charge of arranging the “hurricane” lamps which used kerosene and made a rushing sound which sounded very much like a strongly blowing wind. The mats were set in place and the ladies of the family got the children under control.

I feel that the most satisfying part of any good meal isn’t while it is being eaten, but after it has been completely consumed and the feaster is resting blissfully with no worries and a beeda or paan in his mouth. Hence, when we had finished dinner and the dishes had all been cleared up, we were all resting on the terrace lying on the coir mats staring at the stars through the wispy fingers of clouds. That was when my grandfather told us why his father had moved from Pilasur. It had been as a result of a family feud with his elder brother. Apparently, the elder brother had demanded a greater share of property than had been assigned to him. My great grandfather had had to listen to many harsh words which were unwarranted which led to him moving away, being the peace loving man that he had been. In short, the behavior of his brother had disgusted him and being an honourable and righteous man, he could not stand the insult to himself and his wife causing him to breakaway and set up home in Alampoondi.

My grandfather had grown up in Alampoondi but he left for the city, Madras when he turned 17 in search of employment. After many years had passed and after having retired and having married away all his children, he returned to Alampoondi to buy back his father’s home. He didn’t move back there entirely though, as he realized that his life and everything in it was now in Madras. So, every weekend, grandma and he would travel the 150 odd kilometers to live the simple village life. They thought of it as a retreat where they could enjoy a peaceful weekend with none of the hustle bustle of city life. Soon it became a trend for all of us to visit them during their stay at Alampoondi, we as children used to enjoy the two day stay.

It was during the month of December when I visited my grandparents all by myself. I am the eldest among all my cousins and I was an engineering student then, my semester breaks would never coincide with the school vacations and that was how I found myself all alone roaming the verdant fields of Alampoondi. One of my good childhood friends and a resident farmer had made me promise to come visit him during the day’s work, he had enthusiastically told me to expect something fun. Expecting the unexpected, I walked towards his fields. After all, it had been Venkatesh who had taught me to swim by pushing me into one of the gigantic wells dotting the fields.

As his field came into view, I could discern a huge hulking shape moving around, as I approached, the sound of a diesel motor whirring made its way towards me. Venkatesh, proudly showed me his “combined harvester” which was capable of harvesting fields infinitely faster than the time it took for humans to achieve it manually.

The day had been a tiring one, I had spent it helping out Venkatesh on his farm, though the machine made things easier, there had still been a considerable amount of manual labour involved which took its toll on me by the end of the day. The refreshing bath that we had taken by plunging into one of the wells did help reduce the fatigue and I found myself sitting at my doorstep at sunset. As I stared into the fields which were awash in an orange glow, I noticed a stooping figure approaching our home. A black dog ran alongside him, it seemed to be leading the way, helping the old man navigate the mud path bordering two fields. I looked away at the distant mountain of Annamalai and was totally absorbed in watching the sun’s last few rays light up the peak of the mountain when I was startled by the sound of an old man’s wheezing cough. I looked to my left to find the old man standing quite close, intently staring at my face. “Are you the vadyar’s son?” enquired the old man. (Vadyar means teacher in Tamil.)

“No, I’m his great grandson, who are you?” said I staring into his wrinkled old face.

“I need to speak to Vadyar Saar or his son, could you please go inside and fetch him for me?” said the old man with a toothless smile on his face.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are. Vadyar Saar is no more, he would have to be at least a hundred and ten to be alive now! His son though is resting inside and I can fetch him for you if you like.”

“That would be nice, tell him that I’m an old relative of his, tell him that I have seen him as a very young child, that he once pulled my beard and had playfully called me Dhaadi. I am sure that he remembers. Who are you young man?”

“I’m Shankar, Vadyar Saar’s great grandson. Nice to meet you, what is your name thatha?”

“You too can call me Dhaadi, I see that you are an intelligent young man, what are you doing with your life?”

“I’m in college now, doing an engineering course. Which village are you from thatha?”

“I… I cannot face him once again. I… Listen, do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Yes, a younger brother, but he is not here now. I came here by myself.”

“No, no, brothers must never let anything come in between them. Make sure that whatever it is, you resolve it. Go back and apologize for having quarreled!”

“We didn’t quarrel, I am…” but the old man had turned around and disappeared into the darkness, the dog’s barks could be heard echoing through the night air.

“That seems strange.” remarked my grandfather when I recanted the details of my interaction with the hermit like man.

“He asked me to call him Dhaadi, he said that that was what you used to call him while playfully tugging at his beard when you were a child.”

“Ha! Ha! No that can’t be! How do you know that? I’ve never told anyone about Jai Ram Maama except for that little story on the terrace the night we had dinner up there. You must be making these things up! Come on, tell me, you made it all up didn’t you?” yelled my grandfather.

“No thatha, he even had a black dog which ran along with a limp. He told me all this. Who is Jai Ram Maama?”

“My God! It can’t be! Jai Ram Maama died a few years before father!”

“Thatha! Please tell me who Jai Ram Maama is!” I cried out though I knew very well what answer I was to receive.

“Jai Ram was my father’s brother, the one who drove away our family from Pilasur! May Lord Shiva help him find peace soon!”

That night, I called my brother and spoke for an hour. I even called all my cousins and friends the next day, I guess silly things may sometimes build an impregnable wall between people, what I have tried in life ever after that incident has been to ensure that my human side is not corrupted by my materialistic lust.

Where lies Salvation?

Where lies Salvation?
Where lies bliss?
Within your beloved’s embrace?
Or at the height of musical strains?
I wish a path were clearly marked
but ‘tis not so and I don’t fret
for the journey is preparatory
thy destination not a surety.

At the ecstatic heights of the Himalayas
surrounded by unfathomable secrets
plunging deep into crevasses,
do we find enlightenment?

Or does one need to look within
and find the path emblazoned
on one’s heart, lit with neon lights
marking the route, all one needs
is to take the first step.

Welcome to my mind

“Hi, welcome to my head, hope you don’t mind the mess in here. That song that you can hear in the background, try listening to it. It is one of my favorite songs of all time. Its called ‘I’m a Rock’ by Simon and Garfunkel. Sometimes I have felt just like that. Like there is no point in life as we know it. When the feeling overpowers me, I’m left wondering why we are, what we are and why we do the stuff that we do.

Sometimes, I feel like it is all pointless, that there is no point to existence but to live and then die. What else is there? All of us go through life, we have our ups and downs, and we struggle and work and strive until our families are well settled and safe and then what? We just die, all of us. After having led a life full of struggle, no matter how rich or poor you are, regardless of your societal status, you would have had to struggle through some part of your life. Even if you had been a rich kid with all the creature comforts, the mere fact that you had to live a life with no point to it would be reason enough to depress you.

I have been depressed by the fact that there is no point to existence. But on other occasions, I have been awed by existence. On a few occasions, to such an extent that I felt my entire being touched by everything around me.

It happened on the balcony of my hostel. Our campus is quite beautiful and during the evenings, you find flocks of exotic birds flying around. On that day, everything seemed perfect, the setting sun looked like a giant orange laddoo, the birds chirping in the trees seemed to be singing a song and the breeze started dancing to the tune. It was then that I felt this profound feeling, like I was just a small part of this awesome and beautiful universe. I could sort of feel the cosmic dance all around me. It felt like I could sense the entire universe all around me and I felt like an integral part of it all. The strength of the feeling was so intense that I had tears in my eyes.

Moments like this have happened on a few more occasions, and one memorable time was when I was in one of the woods surrounding Nainital from where the Himalayan range was visible. Nature wields such a powerful influence over me that I would even give up the heights of orgasm to be in the beautiful environs of a place like Nainital.
But after having given this subject ample amount of thought, I have come to a conclusion which shall stand until I come across evidence contrary to its implications. You see, life is amazing enough for it to justify its existence without having to give you a point to its existence. You get me? Life need not give you a point or a reason for its existence because the mere amazing, awe inspiring, varied beauty and brutality of life is sufficient without one having to seek out the point to all existence. Though one may still go along that path, I’ve decided to stop treading down that road and instead, simply enjoy the moment and experience everything that life has to offer.

Right, I see that you are getting impatient and are dying to get out of my mind, so here goes, initiating ejection process… Bye!”

Aimless

Rusted rudder, sails turn as they please
Captain dozes, his life lays ahead of him
but he cares not for the ship, its direction
“Which way do I point it?”, he cries
“I have no direction in life! Am I to direct the ship?”
“Let the current carry us as it pleases, let the wind
blow us where it cares, let random chance take us
hopefully to exciting places, I shall not touch the wheel!
bring on the dancers onto the deck, where is my band?
its time to celebrate, the moon is out again, the Wind
whispers, Listen! It’s the fairies blowin in the wind
listen carefully, and you will hear them singin!”

Why?

This poem is dedicated to my friend Rachit, he has found himself in such situations on more occasions than he would care to admit! Rachit, if you are reading this, i would like to thank you for the inspiration that you provided me with :)


Why do you make me feel this way?
To you it seems like its all fun and games
You laugh when I look at you like
A puppy dog imploring you to look
Into my eyes, But you just laugh and say
You are so cute, where did you learn that look?

I pretend to play the game, inside I ache
If only I could for once pour my heart out
You would know, the depth of my love
But my brain goes kaput when you are near
My heart blocks my larynx, gastronomic somersaults
Prevent me from expressing what my soul wishes to sing

Can’t you discern the turmoil within me?
Why can’t you show me a sign that we are meant to be?
I’ll never pluck the courage, and Dutch courage won’t do,
I don’t want anything to slur the purity of my feelings
For eons then if I must, I shall wait for a sign from you
Until then, I am doomed to be the imploring pup by your feet

Idiot's Kiss

I went through life without once feeling
The strength of the greatest emotion
Many friends were just that, friends
Never had I felt an echo from the depths
Of my being, a note mingling
With perfect harmony had escaped my grasp

Now I see you, O perfection incarnate!
My essence boils over at the mere sight
Of your sweet eyes, my mind and heart
Have finally concurred
I yearn to gaze at you
Into your eyes I wish to stare
And never shall I have another care

But woe the day that you
Accepted that idiot’s kiss
I leave now to seek bliss
At the foothills of the Siwaliks
Beyond your horizon
And beyond your infectious gaze
I go now, I go now…

Nightmare

A weak tendril reaches out through the foggy veil
A weak tendril desperately trying to make contact
The dreamy world had cast its charms
Ugly reality had no right to be here
This went on for more time than
My foggy mind can recollect
Until finally the chirping birds and the sunlight
Filtering into my room awakened me with a jolt
The tendril caught hold of my mind
In its vice like grip, terror took root
I screamed when I looked at the time
I ran and ran and ran till I was dressed
I must have set a world record I’m sure
Locking my room, I tore down the empty corridors
Not a soul around, they all had left already!
Is the exam over? Will they let me in?
I wondered in a feverish dreamy state!
I awoke with a jolt and to my chagrin
My situation had not changed, reality it seems
Had decided to play along with my dream-weaver
The clock made me howl!
This time though I was prepared
I pulled the sheets around me tighter
And bid adieu to reality

Indebted- An ode to my family

The swift river flowed around me, a reassuring cool embrace.
With power to sculpt mountains, she instead chose to sculpt me.
With energy to erode away entire countries,
she instead chose to erode my vices.
With ability to awe the universe,
she instead stayed by my side and made me, me.

The rock that stood rising up to the stars, always by my side he stood.
Never a moment's rest he sought when I needed his guidance and support.
Unchanging integrity,an example was set,
for me to follow was but another step.
No matter how dark the day had dawned, the rock stood solid by my side.
With his peak among the stars and galaxies, never did he choose to overwhelm me. Humble and pious moments did we share,
he inspiring me to flow in the stream of life
with integrity and flair.

My constant companion, a true friend.
A rare bond that we share
that eternity cannot send to oblivion.
A comfort and an aide to banish boredom,
on dreamy summer afternoons and chilly morning jaunts.
Physical distances do not matter,
imprints of these special people reside in my soul
and will remain
after this universe has seen its last star.

The Second Class Coach

Rosy Kutti knew that it would be impossible to get a seat on the train at such short notice, but her daughter had called her again and as usual she had cried over the phone. Especially in the last month, the distress calls from her daughter had increased in frequency. Maybe, if Rosy had let Mary continue with her studies, probably they would all have been better off. She had hoped that her son, Ebenizer would one day grow up to be a great doctor or an engineer and would pull the family out of the hole. He grew up to be a drunkard and gambled all the money that Rosy earned by working twelve hours a day as a maid cleaning houses and washing vessels and clothes.

The train was crowded just as she had expected it to be. What with all the holidays coming up, people were going home to their families. Though she only had an open ticket, she decided to take her chances in the reserved coach. She wasn’t the only one, the aisles were choked with people and the TTE who was making his slow way across the train would have on any other occasion thrown the open ticket holders out of the coach, but today, he was in no mood to do his job right as that would entail a lot more effort than was humanly possible.

Rosy found a comfortable spot to stand at. She positioned herself next to a compartment which was predominantly occupied by families who were traveling together. She stood next to the backrest of one of the seats and leaned her tired back against it.

Rosy had decided that Mary had been through enough, she couldn’t allow her daughter to be punished for no reason by her insane drunkard of a husband. She would now be able to channelize all the anger that she failed to express towards her son in the direction of her son-in-law. Besides, she had been spending too many Christmases in the company of her drunk son, this time, she wanted her daughter by her side when they held the special mass that she loved so dearly as it meant that she could sing all her favorite songs that she had learnt at Sunday school as a child.

The seat that Rosy stood right next to had a harried young father seated on it. Shanmugan was traveling for the first time in his life in the second class compartment as the first class had been booked months ago. His wife and his two year old daughter were next to him on the inner seat.

Shanmugan was not happy with the situation at hand. He had been holding his piss for the last hour because he couldn’t imagine how he would be able to make his way through the crowded aisle. His wife pointed out that the vendors from the pantry car were doing alright. Following his wife’s advice, he followed in the wake of a ‘bhajji’ seller and managed to reach the toilets at the end of the compartment after fifteen minutes of jostling. By the time he came back, Shanmugan was not at all a happy man! He was a successful business man who made big bucks, this ought not to be the way for him to travel! He had suggested chartering a helicopter, but his wife had objected saying that he should stop frittering away his cash and probably start a savings account for their daughter’s college tuition. Shanmugan had wisecracked asking if she wanted him to save up cash to buy a college, but to no avail and there he was, in a crowded, hot and smelly compartment of the largest rail service in the world!

Rosy had taken Shanmugan’s seat when he had been gone. She had been working weekends too for the past two months and today had been an especially arduous day which had begun at three in the morning. Shanmugan though was in a dark mood and took immense offence at Rosy having taken his seat. Didn’t he have enough troubles in his life already? What sort of a twisted mind was responsible for his fate?

What irritated Shanmugan even more was that now he would have to fight his conscience and that too after a very exhausting duel with his sphincter muscles. Rosy was an elderly woman who seemed like she could really use the seat more than anyone else in the coach, but Shanmugan had always been able to silence the voice of his conscience and he did it in his own inimitable style. His father had taught him well, there can be no conscience in a business man’s life. Good advice, Shanmugan had followed it from day one and had managed to dethrone his father from the business and had taken over the empire.

“Are you crazy woman? Get out of here or I’ll call the TTE!” shouted Shanmugan. As he shouted, his daughter who had taken a special liking to Rosy and had snuggled up in her lap woke up with a start.

Rosy glared at him and silently got off the seat, she knew better than to argue with these rich snotty types, she had worked for too many of them and knew that they were self centric and it would be meaningless to try to hold a civil conversation with them, they would simply snub you.

Rosy went back to her standing position and the train moved on. Shanmugan sat down grumbling and muttering loudly about all the dregs of the society giving everyone a hard time. Rosy chose not to reply and simply stood next to Shanmugan’s seat.

Shanmugan took his daughter onto his lap and the rocking motion of the train gradually cradled the little one back to sleep. As she slept, her little head slowly came to rest upon Rosy’s hip and the tender mother in Rosy involuntarily put her hand over the girl’s head and slowly patted her, the little girl’s hand reached out in a state of drowsiness and seeked out Rosy’s hand. “Amma” cried out the girl. Shanmugan jerked in his seat and so did his wife. Their daughter had spoken for the first time and she was doing it again! There it was, she said “Amma” again! Rosy continued patting her little head and the girl looked up into Rosy’s eyes and repeated. Shanmugan in spite of himself had tears in his eyes. He didn’t know what to say, but Rosy just looked at him and smiled in her usual serene manner and all Shanmugan could do was to return the smile.
The train moved on…

Love

Confusion reigned supreme. Emotions collided against each other, the brain just gave up and quit during the height of the crisis. The hormones raged without control, there was no holding back, common sense it seems had taken leave of its senses. The second party involved too seemed to be completely taken over by the pheromonal aura surrounding the surreal environs around the two who seemed like the deer and doe who stumble across each other in the lush green jungle and suddenly realize the existence of a part of their self which seemed to have been dormant until that fated moment. Is this what is commonly referred to as “Love”? Or is it simply a phenomenon dictated by evolutionary necessity for the survival of the species? Is it a misguided mingling of the two young hearts who are unable to see beyond the illusion generated and cast by the “Master Galnds”? Could it be the anticipation of pleasure beyond imagination that has driven one to seek out the other? Could it be that one has misinterpreted the true intentions of the other?

What have the Fates planned out for the two? Is it a sadistic viewpoint of something that is widely held to be an innocent and pure form of Love? Or are all the observations simply the tip of the proverbial iceberg?

The world does see many examples of failure, usually, the two would go through a tempestuous phase sooner rather than later and it would leave the two scarred deep. The illusion suddenly shattered, the ugly reality revealed- the reality so real and so far removed from the stratospheres previously occupied by the two that it causes fear.

Fear of the true lives that had seemed like something from a world in a far of galaxy.

However, some of the lucky ones continue to enjoy the purity of their innocent relationship never realising that they are puppets wielded by Mother Nature. But some are able to see through the illusion and still remain strong. They are able to stand by each other not in anticipation of the earthly pleasures, the strength of their relationship lies not in the earthly layers but far up in the heavens, where even after the truth is known the two remain one and never shall they be twain.

Nainital

My first impression of Nainital wasn't anything positive, or should I say that I wasn't in a position to make any judgement as I sat nausea ridden in the cab that bore us towards the higher altitudes. Only the memory of how a lecturer had pronounced the word Kathgodam kept me going. "Kathmandu!" he had said!


We were in Nainital for a survey camp that was part of our course, so the entire Civil Engg. batch was in Nainital and we were staying at this resort called "Fair Light Trails" which also has Youth Hostelling facilities. If at all you are planning on visiting Nainital, don't stay at some hotel within the city. You won't be able to appreciate the true beauty of this piece of heaven on Earth if you stay in the Mall road. I advise you to get a room at some place situated a little way away from the city, our resort especially was ideally located and it offered an amazing view of the city and was surrounded by forests and hills.



The taxi drivers tend to rip you off, so ask the locals to direct you along the short cut route to "Tanki Point" when you are in an adventurous mood. It will take you about 40 minutes to climb all the way to "Tanki Point" from where you can choose to go to 2 different places or you can choose to rest at "Rana's Tea Stall" which is owned by a very talkative Mr. Rana. From "Tanki" you can either walk a little way along the highway and you will end up at "Himalaya View Point". An amazing treat for your eyes awaits you there, just make sure to go there on a clear skied day or you won't see a thing. If you walk further ahead, beyond "Himalaya View Point", you will find a on the right side of the highway, a few steps leading up to a temple. Pray there if you are the religious type but don't forget to explore the narrow trail that starts off from behind the temple, it will lead you onto a beautiful ridge and it is quite dangerous too, so take your hiking boots along. From the risge, you can hear the sound of rushing water, chirping birds all around you and if you sit there silently enough for a little time, you will find the little birds coming out of all their hiding places and going about their business as if you were not even sitting there.


Also, from "Tanki", you can go to "China Peak". It is a 3 km trek through a forest trail that gets very steep along the way. When you reach the top and see the forest department's canteen, don't assume that you have reached the peak, you need to go around the canteen and further ahead for about 500 meters more and you will find yourself on top of the world. From there, you get to see the Nainital valley as well as the various other valleys all around. When we went there, it was cloudy and clouds were gently rolling into all the valleys. One cloud blew up close towards us and when lightning started flitting across the sky, we got really spooked. We could almost feel the lightning charge, the air around us got ionised and we could hear the sparkling noise that static makes when it comes near your hair!

If you have a lot of time on your hands, you can undertake a 11 km trek through the jungles. When you are climbing up towards "China Peak" you will encounter a board almost halfway up which says that you have climbed 1.3 km and there is still 1.7km left to go. At this point, you will see another path proceeding to the right. This leads to "Kilbury" forest rest house. The path snakes along beautiful forests and is heavenly to walk through. We found a tiny waterfall along the way too and followed the trickle of water upstream. Be mindful of the leeches here though! Once you reach "Kilbury", keep going down and once you hit the highway, walk towards Pangot. From Pangot, you can hire a taxi to take you and your aching legs back to Nainital, if you choose to walk back, then you should consider yourself capable of living in the wild and you ought to pat yourself on your back!

On the mall road, visit the Municipal Library. It is open during the mornings and the evenings. It has a sizeable collection of Fiction and also Sci-fi (I found Isaac Asimov there!). "Bada Market" had many shops with awesome jalebis, and "Cyberia" on mall road had some really sinful pastries.

In case you decide not to walk up to "Tanki" point, you can hire a small cab for about 200 Rs. or a van for 250 to 300 Rs. Well thats all I've got to say about Nainital for now, but I would like to add that my 15 days there were probably the most memorable. Of all my traveling experiences, Nainital gets the peacock throne in the Durabar of my memories. I loved the place so much that I have decided to go back someday and build my home there. I'll probably retire there after 60-70 years, that is, if I'm still stalking the planet!