We also get senti...

The sun had risen, it was fairly bright,

And across the sky soared a great skylark

But something just did not feel alright

Deep inside my heart, I just felt quite dark.

.

.

I watched the sea, wave after raging wave,

And somehow it made me feel eerily calm;

So full of life, yet many a poor sailor’s grave,

I wonder what secrets you hide in your palm.

.

.

As the waters came up and kissed my feet,

I just walked along, and sat on the shore;

It was cold, but all I could feel was the heat,

Something was burning, at my very core.

.

.

I just sat there by myself, totally alone,

Not a soul in sight, not a single sound;

As the waves made me wet to the bone,

I just lay and listened to my heart pound.

.

.

.

Soon, dark clouds hid the sun, and it all went bleak

Lightning, thunder and a mighty rainstorm

I felt the raindrops slowly roll down my cheek

Strange, some of them were salty and warm.

.

.

.

.

.

Or maybe it was God taking a leak?

(adds the non-senti SRK)

********************************************************

PS1: Inspired by a weekend trip to a beach near Bombay. Got totally drenched too. Rains don't seem too bad when you are having fun.

PS2: Pic taken during the trip by a friend. Don't think he would have copyright issues. In any case, if you are reading this, consider yourself acknowledged.

PS3: Just to assuage fears that I may have turned into this mushy, weepy, senti being, here's a bonus PJ for you people...

Q. What did Russell Crowe say when the tiger killed his mother-in-law?

A. Glad he ate her.

It can't be two years already!

I can’t believe it’s been two years already! As clichéd as it sounds, it seems like only yesterday that we met for the first time. I had already wooed two other beauties, both of whom had dumped me at the first date. I was running around desperate, when she said yes. And of course, I said yes without blinking. Or thinking.

As is usual, the first few months were the most exciting. We discovered new things about each other, and I dare say, she helped me find myself. Every day I spent with her, I learnt something new. And exciting.

But it wasn't all smooth sailing. In those early days, I was also confused as hell. I did not know what to do, what to say, and to be honest, I have often wondered whether I deserve to be with her. And I am still not fully convinced that I am worth the riches she lavishes me with.

Of course, there have been days when we did not see eye-to-eye. When I have asked myself why the hell I am still stuck with her. When I have longingly looked at other friends who seemed happier, and wondered whether I should move on. To a better partner, one who might make me feel a bit more special.

But just when the clouds of doubt gather in my mind, she provides a new spark which revives the fire in our relationship. Yep, that’s the magical thing about her. Or at least was.

Of later, there has been a lull in our relationship. The spark, or whatever it was, is just a distant memory. Our relationship is not going anywhere. I can’t remember the last time we really had fun. To put it crudely, I am not getting any.

But I have decided to stay put. Partly out of loyalty. Partly because no one else seems interested. But mostly because, somehwere deep in my heart, I still love her.

After all, she’s my first job.

************************************************************************

PS: People, especially feminazis, who think it is crude to compare a job to a woman, please excuse. In my defence, I’m kinda married to my job. And she is no less demanding than any real woman I have met. And equally hard to please.

PS2: Yeah, yeah, you guessed it in the very first para that this is not about a real woman. For one dumb enough to read this far, you do have some smarts.

The mandatory annual senti post

There are some days when I stand back and ask myself some hard questions...

Like:

“Just what the hell are you doing on this planet?”

“What is the whole damn purpose of your existence?”

“Name ONE useful thing you have done in your life! Just one!”

“You told yourself you’d be a millionaire by 25. How many zeroes to go?”

“Will you ever say ‘I love you’ to a girl?”

And finally, as a dear friend put it eloquently, after a nice booze session, “WHO WILL DIE WHEN YOU CRY?”

It’s not often that this happens, but when it does, the answers are not comforting at all. These questions, they sting. They remind me of the utter useless of burdening this fragile little rock circling the sun with my seventy plus kilograms.

It’s on days like these that I prefer to lie in my bed and sleep off. Because in my dreams, I am the king of all I survey, and there are no little voices asking uncomfortable stupid questions.

And therefore I slept today. The entire day. Woke up only to answer phone calls from people who tried to assure me that I was not as useless as I imagined.

And oh, also stayed awake to watch Roger make history. Although I am an out and out Rafa fan, this still feels special. 14 Grand Slams!!! That’s the second historic thing to happen on June 7.

The first, of course, if you haven’t guessed by now, is that it is the birthday of the most useless person on earth. An event that was heralded with mandatory cutting of cake, mandatory kicking of butt, and mandatory giving of treat.

Now, normally, I consider myself a very pragmatic person. And little voices in my head have often questioned the futility of celebrating an event in which I had no influence on, where I played no part in bringing it about, where I can claim no credit of making it happen, you get the drift...

But somehow, birthdays always make me go full senti. I become all nostalgic, reflect on how lucky I am etc., Strangely, this time around, all I have been thinking about is how I haven’t done anything useful in all the 26 years of my existence.

I guess this is what happens when you grow older. You go from wishing for Ferraris to questioning your self worth. Thankfully, a little voice in my head tells me “But kids don’t have to be useful.”

And , I sooooo don’t feel grown up. Because I am not. And probably, never will be.

Cheers to that!!!

***************************************************************

PS: Note to self: Never blog after multiple rounds of Old Monk. Your writing, even when you are sober, is indecipherable.

PS2: People, if you can't make sense of this post, blame it on the fact that I am slightly drunk. And fully senti.

Happy Birthday Kiruku!!!

Me: Happy Birthday Kiruku! It feels like you were born yesterday, and you are already three years old!!!

Kiruku: That’s it? Just 'Happy Birthday'? No party, no cake, no gifts?

Me: Er... Cakes and parties and gifts are for real people in the real world. You are just a virtual creation. Technically, you don’t even exist!

K: What do you mean I am not real? If anything, I am more real than you.

Me: And how is that?

K: You see, you exist in a world where people never let down their guard. So, you watch your words, seldom show your true nature, shy away from toilet humour, are politically correct and diplomatic... essentially, you hide yourself behind this image of what you think people like to see. And you interact with other people who have their own masks. And all of you go around pretending that everything is hunky-dory.

Me: Whoa! Wait a minute...

K: I, on the other hand, am blunt, in your face, crack stupid jokes, compose crappy rhymes, express strong opinions without fear of what others think, and you know... be the definition of WSYIWYG.

Me: Man, for a three year old, you do think very highly of yourself! Sorry to shatter your ‘I am the reality’ illusion, but you see, I live in a world where I can’t hide who I am. If I am short, pot-bellied, bald and ugly, I can’t pretend to be Brad Pitt. Or Hugh Jackman. Or whoever is the latest sexiest man alive. If I am terribly shy in front of people, especially girls, I have to deal with it. I can’t suddenly shave off my moustache, wear tight tees and do dance pe chance maaro with girls half my age.

K: So?

Me: You, on the other hand, don’t have a face. Or a belly. You are a screen, and people can imagine what they want about you. You can project yourself to be this smart, suave guy and no one will ever know the truth. In fact, they won’t even care. Just because some people say you are funny (and that too because they are polite) doesn’t mean you are this stud with a fan following. Wake up and smell the coffee. Molachu moonu elai vidale, paecha paaru!

K: Dude, watch your tongue. My mental age is higher than yours.

Me: Heh, keep dreaming.

K: I even had an image makeover recently. And I have a much better social life. I have a princess visiting me, people from US and UK saying hi, and lately, even an anonymous fan! Even your friends from your so called ‘real’ world come and say hi to me. You on the other hand, spend your weekends playing AoE on your comp.

Me: Whoa, I do go out for dinner with friends. And even movies occasionally.

K: Just because some people are kind enough to tolerate your nonsense and accommodate you once in a while! And keep copying my PJs and soon, even they’ll run out of patience.

Me: Ok ok, what will you take to shut up?

K: Nothing.

Me: Thank you!

K: I meant I won’t shut up. I will keep talking. I talk, therefore I am. The day I run out of things to say, I’ll die.

Me: Here’s wishing you a long life. Even if you continue to say stupid things. Cheers!

*****************************************************

PS: Yes, as you guessed it, the blog turns three. And it has been a wonderful journey. Don't tell him (it?) though.

Dear Bro...

Dear Bro,

Congrats on your first day. As you take your first tentative steps, I feel I should give you some advice. Hand-holding, if you may. It may sound like unnecessary talking down to you, but please bear with me.

You could not have chosen a better time to come. The world is in turmoil. People are confused. Afraid. Depressed. Outraged.

It was not always like this. When I first came in, people were very happy. They predicted that I would bring much prosperity. Much more than what they already had got before I came in. They crowned me king with great pomp.

I oversaw a great deal of emotions. Happy times. Sad times. Depressing times. I just kept going, stoically doing my job, irrespective of what happenned.

Loads of positive things happenned under my watch. But I never walked around with my chest puffed up. I let the people take credit for it all.

Then, some pretty bad things happenned too. Strangely, the same people who took credit for the good times started blaming me for all the misery. It is a thankless world, bro, let me tell you that.

I hoped things would settle down. But it only got worse. Soon, people were crying for my ouster. Little did they know that I cannot be impeached. I go only when my time is up.

I hoped for some perspective. For people to remember the happy times too, as much as they groan about the miserable times. But, it was not to be.

Soon, my time was up. The same people who crowned me with joy now want to bury me and forget my time. They are crying out for change. They hope you might bring about some of that positive change.

I hope you are up to it, bro. I just hope you can bring back the good times. Ignore the cynical bastards who say nothing will change. They may turn out to be right later, but for now, we need some positive thinking. Remember, man lives on hope of a better tomorrow.

One last thing, bro. By chance, if you fail to bring about cheer, remember that people may curse you too. Don't take it personally. After all, it is not in your hands entirely.

Enjoy your place in the sun, while it lasts.

Much love,
Your much abused elder brother, Year 2008.

Happy Diwali

Warning: Long post. One part senti, one part stupid, all badly shaken and not stirring.
(Putting it up early since I am on leave during Diwali).

**********************************************************************************
Once upon a time, not so long ago, there lived a little brat in a town near the foothills of Ooty. He was a normal child in a normal town.

He had a typical middle class upbringing. Parents who strived to inculcate ‘values’ in him, blissfully unaware that all their efforts would go waste some twenty years later. Parents who stretched a rupee like only middle class moms and dads can, ensuring that the brat is never short of all the things he needs, but slightly short of all the things he demands.

However, even value-inducing parents have their weak spots. And every brat is born with the mysterious ability to recognize them. So every year, during Diwali, the brat saw to it that the rupee was stretched further and more crackers were bought than was affordable. And the parents usually gave in. Just so that the brat’s face can light up as bright as the sparklers he held. Just so that his spirits may soar as high as the rockets he lit up. (The same brat would grow up and look at crackers as a perfect way to “blow up money”, but we are not in the brat’s boring miserly present, but his stupidly nostalgic past).

Thus the crackers were bought. A big, fat carton of them. Multi-coloured sparklers. Rockets which went straight into the neighbour’s first floor window. Flower pots which nearly blew up the brat’s face the year before. Ear-shattering bombs which thankfully did not kill innocent people but merely made them deaf. And other utterly useless stuff which strangely fascinate a young brat.

The brat, like all his fellow brats, followed a curious tradition of ‘sun-bathing’ his crackers, in the belief that exposing them to the sun made the rockets soar higher, and the bombs to burst louder. The brat never questioned whether it was scientifically true, as the brat never had a scientific bent of mind. (Never would too). But every day, for a week before Diwali, the brat would lovingly spread his treasure on a mat under the hot sun, taking the crackers out one by one, visualizing the pleasure of bursting the crackers. And every evening, at sunset, he would carefully pack the treasure back into the carton, one by one.

The brat also visited fellow brats, to compare their treasure to his. And always came away a bit disappointed. He was too young to understand why his dad couldn’t buy some more crackers. After all, the fellow brat’s dad worked in the same company. But, the brat’s mom was an expert in child psychology, and always managed to make the brat feel that he had the best cracker collection in town. (The grown up brat takes a moment to bow to her genius).

Anyways, to cut this boring story short, the D-day arrived. And the brat took his treasure chest to the verandah, and started lighting up his crackers one by one. Even his genius of a mom couldn’t take his attention away from the rapidly diminishing pile of crackers. The brat remembered the Mahabharata story and fervently prayed for a never-emptying vessel of crackers.

Presently, two kids (we can’t call them brats by any stretch of imagination) from down the street came near his door. They were poor kids, whose parents did not have a rupee in the first place for them to stretch. The kids just stood by in a corner, and watched wistfully as the brat proceeded to burst his crackers with glee.

The brat’s mom, ever generous to a fault, called the kids over and handed them one cracker each. Not a packet, not even a few, just one each. She might have had the mind to hand over more, but the brat would have none of it. He, like Arjuna of the “I can see the eye of the bird and nothing else” fame in the Mahabharata, could only see his near-empty stock pile and not the kids’ plight. He threw a wild tantrum, he screamed, he flailed his arms, he kicked the ground, he cried, he acted stupid. He even threw his precious treasure pile on the ground and ran inside the house crying.

But the brat’s mom held firm. She just took the opportunity to hand over more crackers to the poor kids. She then coaxed the brat out of his favourite crying place in the fartheset corner of the room, and taught him to watch the joy in the faces of the kids as they took turns to burst the crackers. She even made the brat hand over a few crackers to them.

It would take a few more years for the brat to realize that there is more joy in seeing the poor kids lighting up crackers than bursting them yourself. The grown up brat wishes he would remember the joyful faces of those kids more often than a once-a-year-senti-attack.

Apparently, value-inducing parents and their brain washing have a more lasting effect than the grown up brat would care to admit.
**********************************************************************************

Happy Diwali people. And much prosperity too.

Load shedding :)

T’was the summer of nineteen ninety aight
A guy was planning to study all night
But soon he had to put aside his book
He wondered how his mother could cook
With the help of a single candlelight…

Yes friends, it was the season of load-shedding
And the boy found himself heading
To a friend whose father ran a lodge,
So that the darkness he could dodge
And sure enough, that place was lit up like a wedding

Some dark days, he racked his brain
Till he saw the famous Blue Mountain train
A brainwave struck, and so the studious bookworm
Joined a few friends on the well lit Railway Platform
Man, studying for the Board exams was a real pain…

Thankfully, his results were fairly good
Since he had tried as hard as he could
His parents asked him, “wanna go to Bombay?”
“Don’t bother about what people might say
No one can dictate what you shouldn’t or should”…

And thus, the nerd landed up in this big bad city
He wanted no sympathy, no "baccha hai" pity
He had many a point to prove
And had to work hard to find his groove
Some days he did, others days he felt shitty…

He studied a lot, M.Com, ICWA and then an MBA
Landed a job with a nice company and a decent pay
But deep inside, what made him really, really happy
Was the hope that someday, somewhere, a little chappie
Can study whenever he wants, and not just during the day…
**********************************************************************************

From the land of the "load shedding" to a hope of a "Power for all" India...
Project Finance - Energy, here I come!!!

Big Brother!

Caution: Long, Boring Post ahead... slightly nostalgic, mostly nonsensical

************************************************************************
Last week, my younger brother joined an engineering college in TN. Even though the college is close to home, he decided to stay in a hostel (ok, mebbe I ‘brainwashed’ him into it, but then, it was his decision).

The day when he supposed to leave, I called him to wish him the very best. My dad asked me to have a ‘talk’ with him (sort of elder brother giving ‘gyaan’ to younger bro).
People who know me reasonably well know that I am a very awkward communicator at the best of times. And this time, I did not have a prepared rehearsed sheet of paper full of advice to give him. What do I tell him?

I wanted to tell him lots of things – study well, make us all proud, concentrate on your goals, don’t let distractions get in the way of what you want to achieve in life, beware of friends who come to you when your pockets are full and do their best to empty it, be an outstanding student but don’t stand out in a crowd, adapt yourself to the environment even if it is inconvenient, change the environment if you can, get a good job 4 years down the line, don’t be afraid to smoke or drink as long as you are confident of you being in control, go out of your way to make new friends and meet new people, learn something about how to lead a life from every good guy you meet, and how not to mess it up from the not-so-good ones, respect your teachers for their knowledge (not merely for their age), don’t be afraid to question things, but learn when to shut up and leave things as they are…

Countless phrases from long-forgotten ‘How to…’ books came rushing to my mind. Nice anecdotes about hardwork, initiative, resourcefulness etc etc were swirling in my mind.

Just as I was about to launch into this long winded sermon (as described above), something stopped me. I knew that Dad would have made sure my bro speaks to all the elders in the family (and I mean ‘elders’ in the real sense, not a twenty something still-searching-for-who-I-am-and-what-bullshit-am-I-doing-here guy who happened to be born some years earlier). I knew he would have been subjected to the same sermon countless times before I got through to him on the phone.

Why I knew it is because I was subjected to the same several years back, when the very same ‘elders’ cautioned my dad against sending his son to a big, bad city like Mumbai (where, in their esteemed opinion, every teenager happens to fall into bad ways and does nothing but smoke, drink and bang chicks… ok, I made up the last one!). I knew it because I was so fed up of that sermon, and remember being thankful that my dad and mom never said a word regarding all this. They trusted their parenting skills enough to send their son over, confident that the son would make his own decisions and live responsibly.

I don’t know whether I was worthy of that trust. I didn’t smoke or drink for 7 years in Mumbai. Never went to a movie hall. Studied like crazy and topped most exams (can you hear a brag-piper in the background?). Never had a girl friend, leave alone banging chicks (ok, I wouldn’t have got a girl even I’d tried, but let’s not get into that. You don’t expect me to pull my own leg in my blog).

But I soon started enjoying a drink or two (ok, maybe more). But, the only chicks that I managed were the ones on my dinner plate. And bang they went into my stomach. But, while I was wasting away my sacred ‘brahiminism’ by indulging in such evils that were sure to send me to rotten hell, I found that I was in no way a lesser human than what I had been all these years. The best thing was that I chose to do what I wanted, and it was I who had to live with those decisions. Not those ‘elders’ who did nothing but what their ‘elders’ in turn advised them.
So, when all these stupid thought clouded my mind, I couldn’t bring myself to give him another lengthy sermon on ‘How to live life like a typical TamBrahm’ and the ‘see no evil, hear no evil, do no evil, eat no evil, screw no evil’ dialogue…

So, I just told him, “Enjoy yourself, bro.”

How My Mom Created God

When I was a little kid, my mom decided that she would prefer an honest kid to a dishonest one. I don’t know the reasons why she decided so, and can only presume that her mom had decided for her and so on for generations too far back to remember. Now, like any normal kid, I was also curious and stubborn and wouldn’t obey instructions too easily. A normal conversation would go like this:
Mom: “Don’t copy during exams.”
Me: “Why not?”
Mom: “It is a bad thing to do. If the teacher finds out, you will be thrown out of the class and they will fail you.”
Me: “But, I can copy when the teacher is not looking.”
Mom: “Even if the teacher is not looking, God will be watching.” (Message: God is omnipresent. He can watch the actions of billions of people, not to mention other animals, birds, insects, bacteria etc.)
Me: “So what if God watches. He can’t throw me out of the class or fail me.”
Mom: “God is all-powerful. He will punish you if you do wrong.” (Message: God is not only omnipresent, but also omnipotent. Moreover He punishes people who copy during exams, apparently because He wants children to memorize stupid facts, and not rely on each other for the same).

So, I believed my mom, and vowed not to copy during exams. The next day, I saw a group of students freely exchanging papers among themselves while I struggled to remember when the Battle of Plassey had taken place. I went to the supervisor after the exam and complained. She rebuked me saying that I should concentrate on my paper and not teach her how to do her job. (Of course, I did not know at that time that the girl who I saw copying happened to be the daughter of one of the wealthiest persons in town, and the supervisor had no intentions of getting in the wrong books of such people).

I came back home, and told my mom, “I saw people copying today, and God did not do anything.” And, so the conversation continued:
Mom: “God doesn’t punish everybody immediately. He allows them a chance to ask for forgiveness. If they continue doing wrong, He sends them to Hell. They will be born as lowly reptiles in their next birth”. (Message: God deals in decades and centuries, not in days like you and me. Besides, God is tax-compliant in his accounting for sins, and hence follows the mercantile system of accounting, where sins are carried forward to be written off against future good deeds. If you continue sinning beyond the ‘carry forward’ period, God, like the taxman, will put you in a very hot jail, called Hell).
Me: “But, they will get good marks now, and God will punish them in their next birth?” (Message: Doesn’t God understand that justice delayed is justice denied)
Mom: “Marks are important, but being honest is more important. I would rather that you failed without copying, than getting the first rank by copying.”
Me: “But what do I get for not copying?” (Message: What’s in it for me?)
Mom: “God (or was it Chitragupta?) will keep an account of all your good and bad deeds. Accordingly, you will go to Heaven because you have not sinned.” (Message: Heaven is a nice place with sweets, chocolates, ice-creams, toys and no stupid teachers who hit you. The Headmaster of Heaven will admit you based on whether you have done good or bad, and not based on whether you can recite the English alphabet or say your Papa’s name like they asked you in your current school).

Thereafter, the message was reinforced whenever possible.
“Mom, I’m afraid to go into the dark room.”
“Don’t worry, God will protect you.”
“Mom, I have bad dreams when I sleep.”
“Say God’s name, and you will sleep peacefully.”
“Mom, the exam paper was very tough.”
“Pray for good results.”

And so on…
Thus, I grew up with a firm belief in God, and always turned to Him when I was in trouble. Then, I grew up some more. I saw students copying, policemen accepting bribes, politicians lying blatantly, underworld bhais living in comfort and said to myself “God will punish them one day”…

Then, I read about young boys in some madrassas being taught that to kill American infidels will lead you to heaven. (pls note, I have nothing against any religion – Hinduism, Christianity or Islam… since to my limited knowledge, all of them convey the same message).
I began to wonder, “If by some roll of dice, I had been born in Afghanistan… would I have been handed a gun, and told to shoot at some white man, to win a passport to Heaven?” “Or if I had been born in US, would I have been given a B-52 bomber, and told to drop some bombs in any oil rich country to get an admission to Heaven?”

How come the Headmaster of Heaven admits young kids who do not copy in exams, and also allows young kids who shoot at others. Is there some reservation system in the schools of Heaven too?

Happy Birthday!!!

Once upon a time [not so long ago ;)], God rolled the wrong dice [yup, even HE makes mistakes], and on the auspicious hour of rahu kalam, I was born.

Every year, to remind God of his momentous mistake, I decided to ‘celebrate’ my birthday. I used to get up at 5.00 am, have an early bath, wear new clothes, go to the temple to pray for a long life (duh!!!), come back and seek my parents’ blessings. I also prayed for toys, video games, a bicycle and the usual temptations of a normal, boring child. The highlight of the day was the ‘gift’ of a grand sum of Rs. 5 given to be spent as I liked. Amma used to prepare sweets and there used to be a ‘saddhi’ lunch with vada-payasam. The day was like any other. After this morning ritual of prayer, I used to go to school, study, play cricket with friends and return home… a normal, boring, peaceful life some wud say. Evidently, birthdays were not much of an event in my life.

Today, ‘Birthday’ has a different meaning. I am woken up at 12.00 midnight. Kicks in the butt, cake on the face, cold water poured from a floor above and loud clapping in the dead of the night. A new twist added in the form of gulal smeared all over. I already feel ‘one year closer to my grave’ ;)

I will wake up at 10.00 am, too lazy to have a bath. [the bath at midnight to remove the cake and the gulal helps assuage the guilt]. There is a temple in the campus, but then, I’ll be too lazy to go there too. But, from the comfort of my hostel room, I’ll pray for a dream job with a six figure salary, a bungalow in Malabar Hill, and a Merc… the usual temptations of a normal, boring guy. I’ll have a special lunch outing maybe, but I’ll sure miss the vada-payasam for sure. I log on and there are sooo many budday wishes on Orkut. I’m playing cricket on my computer instead of the real thing. But then, life remains the same – normal, boring and peaceful… and Birthdays still don’t have much of a meaning in my life.

Tomorrow is going to be essentially a Xerox copy of today… assignments to be submitted, studies to be done and friends to be bugged…

Have I grown any wiser over the past one year? Definitely not… Do I feel any older? No way… Then, what difference does this ‘birthday’ make? Why do we celebrate it? I dunno. I don’t care too…

All I can say is - Keep rolling the dice, Boss!!!

Some useless trivia to end – I am told that the ‘Happy Birthday’ song is the most sung song in the world. Dunno if it true…