Gulp!

How dare he? Dum Dum! How could he? Dum Dum!

And then she picked up her drink, a large vodka with tonic, and started gulping.

She felt her eyes well up with anger just as she felt the alcohol singe her throat. And then it dawned on her.

Walking through the large pile of construction material and saving oneself from the mad traffic, one arrives at a small but imposing building that was not easily visible from the main road. Mainly because it was partly hidden from view by the flyover. The building was by itself rather gaudy in appearance with flashy lights and and a large glass facade.

It was a hotel cum bar of some sort. But being in such a crowded place as it was, it was frequented by thirsty techies who needed a tipple after a long, hard, arduous day of sitting about in a chair staring at a monitor. Safe people these techies were. Safe because they never really got drunk. They always carried their backpacks with their laptops. Sometimes, you could see one type away diligently and staring fiercely at the screen while all others around were guffawing away at a seemingly techie joke.

There was one such techie table where the aforementioned drink was being consumed with such gusto. The others at the table looked at her in horror. It must be noted that techies googled everything before they ever tried it. It was, for example, known by all at the table that it was textbook sacrilege to consume alcohol like that. Courtesy, google. Specifically, web MD. They all knew, for instance, that consuming alcohol in a hurry could be dangerous. How? Percentage of alcohol in the blood could go up acutely; some people might get dehydrated; worse, there could be a hangover. Techies did not like hangovers. It meant they would have to work from home the next day (which was the good part) but the general feeling of sickness meant no work would get done and the pesky, prying, lording manager would choose to ask for an update in the middle of a headache. Yes. Techies hated hangovers. It wasn't safe.

Around the fifth gulp, she stopped for air. It also dawned on her that it was "not safe". That's right. She had googled "vodka" many times. At the same time, she had tears in her eyes. She started tuning into the people at the table. They were saying please. Please, please!

She had always wanted to do a dramatic gesture. She likened herself to a regional actress of some repute who had done so in a recently released, quite popular, film. It had run for two weeks which is saying something. The passionate, angry drinking was a regular plot component in many movies but this regional actress did it particularly well. In fact, had some of her other movies been popular, it would have been found that this was not her best drinking scene after all.

Then of course, everyone fussed over her for a while. She wiped her tears and sobbed for a while and the offending party also said "sorry" in innumerable pining, pained and guilty ways. One would say he was used to having to apologize profusely quite often. Maybe, he got himself into such sticky spots as a custom.

They were friends. They argued. Sometimes with regional actresses playing in the mind and at the same time in another mind, the brutally honest but stoic "Darcy" in the film adaptation of a famous Victorian novel. Sometimes, they were just techies. Ha!

Burden

Life they say is full of surprises.

I say I would not have it any other way. And yet, the year that was, takes me back to memories that weren’t surprises. Much the mundane and the routine. A plod, if you will, in the dreary drunken stupor of life. With one unholy exception.

“If he is joking, I shall kill him!”

“Oh God. Let him be joking”.

I struggled to contain the sense of despair. Maybe it was serious but not THAT serious.

“But he was calling from the hospital!”

There was a lot of traffic. It was a Saturday. It was evening. I had to cover maybe 20, may be 30 kilometres. How life around me seemed to be in a bustle. People were out shopping, eating out or going to their friends’. Suddenly I remembered lunch. Restaurant food at a friend’s place.

“What did I eat? How does that matter? I had met two of my classmates. They seemed well. We were all aging. Hopelessly.”

It had been a bright, somewhat warm day for January. But then, Bangalore is like that.

“This infernal traffic.”

At a turn, I saw some traffic guards. They seemed hot in argument with a car driver. I tried to think what time of the month it was. Oh right. It was close to Republic day. Close to the end of the month. I had shopping to do. I remembered someone’s birthday.

“I do not have to buy anything now. There will be no birthday. Oh!”

But my mind was not going to despair. There was hope. Till I got a firm, undeniable confirmation, there was hope.

“I have to make a phone call. I shall make an exception and call on the speaker phone while driving.”

All of a sudden, I felt like going home instead. I did not want to go to the hospital. Home was the safe haven. For some reason, I wanted to curl into bed and go to sleep. It seemed very inviting. I could say, I got a call and had to go home. There was no one at home. It would be a silly excuse. Let’s face it.

“I called 2 people and both seemed unsure. That is a good sign. Unsure means not so bad.”

I passed by my old office building. We had shifted just a week ago. Thank god for that. The first day I joined at the new job 2 months back, the HR lady smiled and said that we were moving. I had felt really worried. Not JP Nagar or some other such faraway, end-of-nowhere. Maybe Whitefield. That is quite bad too. Then she said near EMC. I was pleased. That meant half an hour less on the commute. And on the same way as the office in my earlier job.

“Seat belts? Babies cannot wear seat belts! I had shouted at my sister for not using the car seat. I must call her to check on my nephew....How selfish am I?”

Then I picked up a colleague on the way. She had been waiting for a while because of the traffic. As soon as she got in, I had to ask. So I did.

“Yes. They lost their child.”

I felt my heart sink. I felt my eyes well up. I also felt very, very angry. I wanted to scream. I felt tired and helpless.

At the hospital, I found myself thinking that he had not joked after all. Slowly, things started to unravel. There had been an accident. The father and mother were in ICU. The child had died. We waited. The three of us waited. The colleague who had called from the hospital had seen them before they were moved into the ICU. He gave a report that seemed encouraging.

There is something about hospitals that is strangely reassuring. I cannot help feel hopeful. There was something I did not know, that could be done and is being done. I am sure of it. They will be fine. But there are also the tired worried faces of people waiting like us. There is so much suffering.

The family of the victims arrived. They had been traveling quite a distance. Imagine the anxiety? Mother was in a daze. She was about to see a much battered son in the ICU. But more than that, she had just seen a dead grandchild. I just watched from a distance as she was being led into the hospital. She was weeping and walking slowly. My heart sank again.

“The human state is that of suffering. We try so much to acquire and conquer and obtain. And we should because that is called living. But we should be aware that one stroke of the Almighty is all it takes to change our world forever. Sweet my child, even though I never met you personally, I saw you in the eyes of a dear friend. How you lit them up like a 1000W bulb by a mere mention. How I wish I could have held you at least once and seen you smile. You were but for a little while. I understand. And yet I cannot accept. I cannot accept.”

To Makhee Baby

It is my hope and wish that one day you will grow up to be the man you are meant to be. A gentleman whom people will respect. One who knows and understands the importance of honesty, courage and loyalty. And most of all, I hope that you will challenge the supertitious narrow mindedness and pettiness that will be posed you at every step of your life.

You will have doubt or be numbed into resignation by those around you.

You will also be taught intolerance of those different from you. Maybe taught even to despise another human being in the name of religious fanaticism. Remeber, your humanity will be challenged.

It is also by faith that you will emerge victorious. Right now you are small and vulnerable and even those that mean to do you all that harm will look after you. But by degrees, they will make devious manoeuvres and lure you into hatred.

It is your war and only you can fight it. That is the fight of man. A man.

Even though I give you a word of caution, you also have my promise that I shall stand by you.

In the words of a friend who fought my war with me, "Keep the Faith".

Time

I lived quite far from school. It may not be far by today's standards and I do travel a great deal more each day now than I used to when going to school, but it was far then. And for a long time it made me feel quite wretched because we did not have a car. Well, eventually we did but it was rather expensive to run it and we could not afford using it everyday.

Living far from school meant I could not walk to school. I could not stay back after school for "extra curriculars" and most of all, I had to give that explanation to everybody at school. I was resigned and accepted that we had to stay where we did. And that time was my enemy.

It was my enemy because it chose to tick away and while I could do with an extra hour of sleep, I had to be up and ready everyday. I would reach school a good one hour early; not because I chose to, but because my bus had to drop a lot of children going to many different schools. And they had to start early so that everyone reached on time.

Brother Gomes often found me in the corridor and asked looking quite alarmed, "Why are you so early young man?"

The same explanation would follow. He would listen and blink through his round spectacles and then nodding, walk away. He never quite remembered me. So, I dreaded meeting him in the corridor early morning to be asked the same question again.

In the afternoon, after school, I had to wait for the bus which was always late. Children boarded it chattering and making a lot of noise. I always felt angry at having to wait so long after school. On rainy days, it was far worse because half the seats in the bus were wet with leaky windows, and the other half already occupied. So you see, I would be angry that I had to wait in the rain for the bus and angrier that there was no place to sit, so I had to carry my books and find a foothold somehow. Time was my enemy alright. It appeared that my time was also of no value to everyone except me.

"Time and Tide wait for none"

But I waited all my life. Waited for school to start. Waited for the bus to arrive. Waited to make my time count. Though it was my enemy, I valued it very much indeed.

I wonder today at the hours wiled away doing nothing but waiting. Perhaps, I did not have the industry to do something with that time. Or perhaps I was so angry all the time that, just as I said, I was resigned to the fate of wasted time.

Much later, I do know how to manage my time better. I use my moments with care and ensure that none of my 'precious' enemy is wasted while it contines to do what it does best...tick away. But now I realize that my view of time has been wrong all this while. While I have yearned to make use of my time in the most optimal way, the world seems to want to use it in a routine fashion. There is a time for everything. To an extent I agree. And to a large extent, I differ. For what really is time? Just a measure of delay between events? Time also ensures order and gives people the cue to combine energies towards a common cause. It has been the single most useful counter for the human race. And it goes on counting while we go on follwing the patterns set by society to keep in step with the rest of the world.

And in this pattern, if you look closely, there is a pot of gold. When the world moves like clockwork, there are a few who understand the futility of the counter and its infinite character. They understand that patterns provide an otherwise aimless existence with some semblance of purpose. Patterns can be as varied at waking up when there is sunlight to getting married by the age of 30 to retiring after the age of 60. In short, patterns provide the framework of life.

And there I was, walking into the office in the afternoon. I meet a certain someone and that person remarks, "You are late."

I answer, "for what?"

"You know, you are late. Everyone comes in early?"

"What is early? And I am late because everyone else is early?"

"You should come on time."

"On time for what?"

"You know. For work and all."

"But there is no time for work. Work must always go on. We choose when to work and when to rest."

"Yes. That is why you sleep at night and work during the day."

"Why? Why can't someone work partially during the day and patially during the night. You know. Enjoy the best of both worlds."

"That is unnatural."

"You think it is unnatural because you seek acceptance from the world. You fear the rebuke of the ones who fit better into the framework. You want to fit in very badly and are quite miserable all the time because you are running a rat race in which Time is of the essence". I smiled.

"Do you think I am rebuking you?"

"You definitely fit better into the framwork of society. I on the other hand am a rebel. But from where I stand, I am in control. You cannot be rebuked when you are in control."

Time is a continuum. I rest my case.

Emulex to Aarohi

And yet it seems like yesterday
When like a child quite fierce
Crossed I that silly tread
And never looked back for years.

Tumult and calm
Groan and exhaltation
Creeps and annoyance
Nothing new nothing old.

Hmmm. Now what? When having spent so long
The plants within look nurtured
Nurtured I a dearly feeling too.
Where is it gone? Oh Where is it gone?

It was easy.

Same happy, smiling, worried faces. Nothing has changed!

To 'Jeej' or not to 'Jeej'

"I completely hate him. Poor Pumpy!" Lala announced as soon as she stepped into the house. I was reading and Tipsy was munching. Po was sucking up to Tipsy. She wanted a blue, sorry, turquoise set to go with her blue, sorry, aquamarine dress that was to be the dress for her high school farewell party. Of course, no one bothered with Lala's epiphany because it was after all Lala. And we had got used to her announcements.

"I hate her" - when she had a fight with her best friend, whom Mom had invited to next week's birthday party. Ofcourse, now she was expected not to come even though the invitation stood. Mom would laugh behind her back and I would announce and Lala would be very upset and...well that is another story.

But I was interested to know whom Lala hated now. So I looked up from my book and asked her, "You mean her husband?"

"That stupid man. Poor Pumpy!"

Pumpy was her on and off best friend who had had the tenacity of surviving Lala's swinging favours. I attribute it to their extremely different natures. Pumpy was plump, Lala was actually thin. Pumpy loved food. Lala loved to hate it. Pumpy loved her husband. Lala hated him for her sake.

"Why must you say that. All marriages have compromises. Look at Dudley and me. Marriage is about compromise." Tipsy was being eloquent.

Po nodded her head to agree with Tipsy. Po would agree with anything Tipsy said that evening. She had much at stake.

"You! What are you nodding at?"

"I have my opinions. Right to freedom of opinions follows from right to freedom of speech and expression. It is my fundamental right. We studied in Civics and Miss Deepa says that...."

"Shut up. And you. You are not married to a loser. I mean, I do have my reservations about Dudley but overall he is not bad."

"I know", I said. "If only it was not for his family and the related family values".

"What do you mean?" Tipsy was getting hot.

Po glared at me with all her might. Mom had a distressed look on her face. Lala had changed into comfortable clothes from her high heels and tight jeans. Amazing how comfortable clothes made women more objective.

"I feel that he is nice. Ok. He has a bad sense of humour and he asked my the price of my dress in public. But that is Dudley. This guy is horrid. Poor Pumpy!"

Tipsy had stopped munching. She was ready to explode. Luckily, she had forgotten my remark about the values.

"What does she mean by saying no sense of humour. You guys never approved of him and never will. But atleast you can say it in his face and not behind his back."

"I am telling his better half. No point appealing to the worser half."

I suppressed my laughter. Oh, I would give anything to get the girls to fight.

"Wipe that smirk off! What's so great about our family values? You have some nerve. In his community, the bride's brother is all humble and manners."

"Yeah. So that the family can have a foot rest. Sorry I do not qualify as a stool or support."

Mom was listening so far. Now she was really upset. "Don't speak to your brother like that."

"And Dudley? Isn't he your son too?"

"Yes he is. I never denied that. But you should not expect your brother to be like north Indian brothers."

There was silence for a while. I was back into my book. Tipsy started munching again. But this time she was doing it with a vengeance. Lala was on the phone with her other friend. I call her Lanky because she is all arms and legs. She is also Lala's backup. Lanky always agreed with Lala and Lala considered her her true friend because of this. They had spent the entire day with Pumpy and in the evening when Pumpy got a call from her husband, they were in the middle of Lanky's love affair with her neighbour's son whom lanky's parent's would never approve of and neither would the boy's. As good neighbours, Lanky's mom did not get along with the boy's father.

Pumpy had to leave and Lanky felt betrayed, especially since they were meeting after such a long time and that too just when she was about to cry. She had planned to tell them about her break-up date a week before and break down. The flow was ruined and Pumpy's husband became a villain. They dispersed and agreed to meet the following week. But it was official. Lala and Lanky hated Pumpy's husband.

"So then we shall go to Plaza. I saw this really good set. It is perfect..."

"Po please don't bother me now. Take your brother for shopping. Or Lala. I am too tired."

"But you promised. And you think brother will let me buy what I want. He will get me the Hippy stuff. And Lala will fight with the shopkeeper...Oh Tipsy, I have to live here and more importantly shop here. I cannot afford that."

I looked up. Tipsy was in a cold war mood. Mom had already given me a few dirty looks. Like all doting moms, she considered it her birth right to glare at her son and glare at everyone else who dared glare at her son. Po was in a panic. And for the first time in the history of the Koch family, she beat Tipsy to tears.

It started as two large drops on either cheek. Then sobs. And then, not getting the attention her precious tears demanded, she started speaking to herself between sobs. It cannot be described. It can only be experienced. It sounds like she was being strangled while giving a speech.

Then of course, Tipsy started sobbing. Which is nothing new but with half the women in the house sobbing, one cannot call it peaceful or one cannot ignore it. Lala pacified Po first. It was easy. She took out 200 rupees from her purse and gave it to Po. Po lightened up at once. He only last complaint was that no one was going to take her shopping and she was going to look all mismatched anyway.

I offered, feebly. It resulted in Po wailing out louder as if I might have suggested she go drown somewhere. I then offered to pay for a new pair of shoes with the condition that she was not going to wear everything blue. "After all", I said, "You cannot afford to look like Dudley's mom. All blue...very blue."

That did the trick, by the way. Po laughed. Lala cackled and Tipsy smiled in spite of herself. She tolerated her mother in law as much as she loved Dudley. But she still seemed very sad that we had said those things about Dudley. She moped still and one could not win over a 20 something by money. Not with a small amount anyway.

Po took out her 'aquamarine' dress and considered herself in the mirror. Tipsy refused tea and then refused to munch on anuything offered her. Lala was a tad guilty but was feeling better after her talk with Lanky wherein she had all but torn poor Pumpy's husband apart. After refreshing herself with a cup of tea she sat down to read a research paper she had to submit over her vacation. The phone rang.

"I am quite bored here Hon", Tipsy complained. "And I miss you so."

Dudley said something on the other side. It sounded like something insignificant and quite obvious. But Tipsy agreed. Then Dudley asked to speak with Lala. We could hear that from the speaker of her phone mostly because we were frozen and quite creeped out by Dudley's sense of timing. It would appear he lacked one more sense in addition to a sense of humour.

Tipsy shoved the phone at Lala's face with a hurt look. Lala took the phone gingerly and spoke, "Hi Jeej."

I do not know what they spoke about. I could not care less. But it was how Lala signed off that phone call that make me look up.

"Bye Jeej...and oh by the way, I wanted to tell you. You are the best brother in law I know of."

I caught Lala's eye. She winked. I looked at Tipsy behind her. She was beaming. Poor Tipsy. Po crept up close to Tipsy and sat down beside her. They started making plans for shopping the next day.

I imagined Dudley do a hop skip and smile the bliss of someone in the ninth cloud.

Reverence

A singular thought transfixed.
While at that moment it is the truth.
Why every breath mixed
In love and warmth its root?

Fervour in a fit of passion
Or is it a desire for oneness.
Humble, quiet compassion
In life and act and fairness

Revered is that holy sight,
I did see from my cradle.
And in that ever guiding light,
I did build my mettle.

Upon that warm hand
That rested on my shoulder.
Upon that sacred band
That bound us together.

A singular thought of selflessness
Transfixed within my mind.
While, as I approach that stillness
With you I shall bind.

Food Glorious Food

It is a matter of taste that food is more than a means of nourishment. I believe that the ordained truth is that food is meant to nourish the body as well as the soul. Somehow, it is also a motivating factor; one that allows one to strive. For, why else would there be restaurants, Michelin stars, exotic cuisine and the resplendence of a civilization in her culture and spread.

But cooking is also a science as much as it is an art. That which gets rave reviews in food guides has its roots in the tiny kitchens of the many homes where food is prepared everyday. That is not gourmet cuisine. And most often, it is not the creation of someone artistic. One might even say, it is something that is a means of sustenance. And yet, in that food put together by the mothers of the world lies that 'something' that we get accustomed to and search for in every street corner as well as in every Michelin starred restaurant.

As for me, I grew up on the traditions of a household with a working mother and a continual and persistent lack of time for anything. There never was any time for breakfast. Lunch was cold and Dinner was almost always made to compensate for the lack of nutrition throughout the day. It's amazing how my mother managed to keep us fed at all. For one thing, her motto was fast food with health. Someone today will tell you that, that is a contradiction in itself. The fish was grill roasted or boiled as were the tomatoes and other veggies. The potatoes were never fried but boiled with the rice and then mashed later with herbs and mustard. What appeared on the plate was sometimes almost repulsive to look at and yet it is the food I grew up with and surprisingly keep returning to.

Such healthy, low fat food is one thing; completely unhealthy street food is quite another. And I can proudly say that I have had almost equal amounts of both. And when I did get the occasional food poisoning or once, Jaundice even, my mother sterilized all the crockery in the house, started boiling the water for an extra 30 minutes and went into a frenzy with hygiene or the (apparent) lack thereof in her house. Suffice it is to say that this alone was the single most important factor in my relinquishing street food altogether. I'd rather eat boring food than eat the same boring food served by a worked up mother whose single purpose in life was to drive out all germs. But beyond that, she really cared for us and takes great pains even now. And many years later, her type of cooking is a fad and every other cookery show raves about the advantages of Lycopene in Tomatoes and Omega 3 and Tocopherol in Fish. It is still boring though.

Today, I wonder if she suffers from paranoia. Or maybe I have imbibed some of the germ hating genes that cause me to wash the dish scrub after having scrubbed the dishes or stand in the sun just to imagine the UV rays killing all the germs on my skin or pick on people for their bad habits.

And when I have done all this, I drive out to my favourite restaurant and gorge on the greasiest deep fried food ever and feel quite content. Guilty? No way. I then snub guilt by wallowing in the martyred deprivation of my taste buds by mother for the greater part of my life.

Food is not just about nutrition. It is also for the soul's contentment even if it entails an acne breakout or a prosperous mid-section. Go Food!

Holy Matrimony! Holy Confounded Status Quo!!

I have wondered often if there is any truth to the belief that if you are too happy, you might feel sad soon...or atleast come by some real good opportunity of being sad. One thing I do know though, is that sadness serves to break the monotony of the utter drudgery of happiness. Or, maybe, sadness is the end towards which happiness leads us. Sort of like a repeater. Every time we get too bored and used to happiness, there comes along dear 'sadness' to give us a boost and allow us to appreciate happiness.

In which case, sadness is not really a bad thing. That is why I say 'dear sadness'...though I do dread this 'dear' quite a bit. No one likes to be sad. And one cannot always be happy? Really?

One reason why I write this at all is because I am told that I reek of 'singleness'. That, somehow, I do not complete the picture...that in the order of things I have dared so much as to decide to maintain status quo much to the consternation of friend and foe alike.

'It's high time you got married.'

'What more do you want?'

'Really, you will age out of reckoning if you do not act fast enough.'

But maybe that's just that. I do not want anymore than I already have...a nice and peaceful life. Why add another dimension and create multiple possibilities of 'happiness' and 'sadness' so that life becomes spicy and I develop a peptic ulcer!

'When you are 70, or 60 even, you will want a companion.'

But society today offers more options than it did a few years ago. One has more choices in the matter of lifestyle. Maybe, there will be an "old blokes' club to provide companionship at old age". And I am definitely not ready, as yet to give up on being the nuisance of an old (but rich) uncle whom my nephews and nieces will be forced to tolerate. In fact I fully intend to be one whom everyone big and small in the family would recognize as 'the one' not to trifle with but give much pampering instead.

"But then, are you happy?"

Well, I am not sad. And do not, very much, intend to be soon.

Faith in Humanity II

Faith In Humanity

My thoughts bother me immensely, till I feel I cannot think any more.
When, like the song heard too many times loses its charm or an overdose of one's favourite food is easily tired, the thought kept too long in the mind loses its meaning...and its relevance.
In anger, one repeats and repetition is a sign of mental weakness. Therefore, anger weakens.

My nightly visitor visited me again. Over tea, I asked of the great one what it was to dwell on a thought. Was it not the basis for meditation...to think one thought and arrive at the true meaning?

The great one replied, "there is a nuance. When you meditate on a thought, you look at it with detachment. Its every aspect is measured and weighed. This is different from a thought that remains in the mind. If you make the thought yours and then keep it too long in your mind, it will decay and cause putrefaction".

"But sometimes I like holding onto a thought. It gives me a sort of martyred satisfaction".

"You do not need such crutches. By the way, your tea speaks of discontent. Are you not content child?"

"I am bothered. I like to pine sometimes and I feel sorry, even guilty for what I have. Am I at the threshold of renunciation?"

"You know the answer to that as well. You have crossed the level of material satisfaction. You seek higher satisfaction."

We sat late into the night and talked as usual. I do not have this visitor often. But when I do have this visit, we make the most of it. We have tea in a very customary fashion.

The great one rose to leave. I was in tears by then.

"I am happy for you have grown since my last visit. You can now cry. They say children cry...but little do they know that only the wise ones cry. I congratulate you on your achievement."

"I know what you are saying and yet there is a part of me that does not want to understand."

"That is your fear. It is the same everytime I visit. Did you realize that you never ask me to stay."

"I want to be with you always...I really do. But I also like the expectation of seeing you."

The great one laid a hand on my shoulder. "It is this expectation that is your anchor to the world. If you accept me, you will detach completely. Play your part. I shall keep visiting. You know how to reach me...don't you?"

"I do not."

"And yet you do."

I know I did. I felt the presence slip away. As always, the whisper, "Keep the faith".