Encore..

This was 3 years back:
My Post:
http://recentmoments.blogspot.com/#113758596244985893
A friend of mine's post which i accidentally discovered: http://aodz.blogspot.com/2006/01/corporate-circus.html

Last week:
My Post:
http://myriadmoments.blogspot.com/
and also refer to title description of this blog
Another friend of mine's post:
http://inktoast.blogspot.com/2009/05/inktoast-toasted-ink-and-namelessness.html?
......
I have mixed feelings.... A Monday morning got insensibly cheered up as well as irritated, due to the same event...
Knowingly or unknowingly, words were borrowed...is it something to be flattered about, or really annoyed about?
Maybe if i was a celebrated author or someone incredibly talented, it would be justified for me to be condescending and arrogant...
However, I'm neither, and I cannot help but feel a mixture of pleasure, pride, and maybe a tinge of justified annoyance..:)
So Cheers and Happy Blogging Vix and Abhijit..
:)

..A Lost Soul..

It is an uncomfortable stillness that is surrounding me right now, a day into the bench period (my hectic busy project just ended yesterday); I am feeling a little lost. The last time I was like this, I was in Bangalore - restless, awaiting my transfer...before that, a whole bunch of us were in the same situation, so it hadn’t really mattered. Discussions, time pass, pulling legs, lunches, treats, talk talk talk, driving lessons - all had made up for the free time.

I miss a certain friend....we spent many a day just talking; sometimes books - a favourite author of ours, a new movie, comparisons between a Rajnikanth and Amitabh… Our discussions would be so involving to us, that sometimes even our manager would be curious and ask as to what it was that we were both so concerned about.

Now, when I turn to my side, to the next cubicle, he is not there - to listen to all my meandering thoughts, to answer my endless questions, to respond to my teasing. He hasn’t been in my adjoining cubicle for quite some time now, since our project ended and he went onsite to USA, and then I shifted to Gurgaon; but now his absence is no longer temporary, there is no impractical, even somewhat forlorn hope that we might again be working together...he is gone forever.

He has left us, and this unbelievable shock has left us all in a state of seemingly ceaseless sorrow. I believe he is looking down upon me, and smiling, wanting to give his comments on my current situation; now that he is at a place where he can observe all that goes on down here.
The finality of death is so difficult to accept; it brings with it the yearning for the people who will no longer be with us, laugh with us, it is something that has not even the distant possibility of reversibility, - once you lose someone to death, you cannot ever regain his/her presence. Death leaves behind so many memories, so many words unspoken, so many things inexperienced, so many thoughts unshared…

He was a good person; an exceptional human being - everyone loved him, and everyone still does. Another common friend (colleague) still cannot accept his loss; sometimes, he forwards previous mails sent by our dear friend... his words, his mirth, his comments seem to revive this person, lessen the grief, the inescapable loss of a dear one. There are others who chose to mourn and pay tribute to him in their personal ways; some visiting his home in Ooty, some opening his photos, some reading his mails to them over and over and over again, some remembering him in the back of their consciousness whenever some common thing they shared come in front of their eyes, some look at the gifts they got from him, and see his smiling face in front of their teary eyes. He will never come back, but he has left such a powerful impact on our lives that we have all created a memorial for him in our hearts..

I have lost a friend, so close being so far, so near to my heart, so understanding… its hard for me to accept his absence; there have been so many things he has helped me with....from the minute technical problems to the major confusions in my professional life...he has been a guide..

My first impression of him three years ago was that of a super technical fellow who worked a lot, hard working, serious, silent - that perception changed along our journey together in the same project, when we started interacting due to my endless doubts. He transformed from the silent diligent colleague to a talkative funny smart worker friend, who knew how to finish his work smartly, how to delegate responsibilities, how to pretend that he had a lot of workload, when actually the only time he worked was after the entire team had left.
It might seem that I am demeaning him, his work, but it is not so. Our conversations were always honest and I don’t intend to change that now, no matter how inconsiderate I might seem; and we both had frank open opinions about each other which we always made sure the other knew. I was the one always chatting, mailing, music, writing, even in the middle of a full day of work, while he was the one fooling around, teasing, this and that, chatting (offline), then sitting at his desk, working with some word/pdf/excel documents; the seniors members seemed to notice only that part of his day, (i.e. the work at his system) perhaps, because he always managed to finish his work in time, even if sometimes somewhat imperfectly..

He had a fetish for organizing; he could not do something before properly planning and organizing; his To Do lists which I sometimes helped create and execute, his excel sheets with all his personal and financial data... I used to tell him, if that got into wrong hands, he would be in a fix. He would smile and wave his hands in a gesture of nonchalance, indicating his carefree attitude. His plan for the Andamans trip, his trip to USA; last moment and yet everything done perfectly.
All that organizing and he used to call ME a smart worker... managing work, fun, chat, everything at the same time…

On of the most patient people I've known, I miss waiting for him as he was always the last to finish lunch, chewing slowly, every grain of rice a singular delicacy, not wasting much; he use to tell me that some great personality had said, food should be chewed to the extent that you don’t eat it , you drink it. He has told me so many quotes, thoughts of so many great personalities….he was really influenced by the great writers; the author Krishnamoorthy, whose views so matched Ayn Rand's, was his favourite thinker.
So many debates, so many incidents we shared, so many stories we told each other…. he read to me even his father’s notes about writing. His father had written some notes on the skill of prose. He wanted me to understand that, and perhaps use them to improve my blogs. He admired my amateur literary works, but he was frank when it came to negative comments; if he didn’t like it he said it. He was always an encouragement to me…in his absence, his memories continue to do the same…

He made me relax when I was tense, always showing me what was the worst that could happen (which usually wasn’t much)…
Sometimes modest (professionally), sometimes proud, always cheerful, always calm; I have never seen him tense in all the time I have known him. He lived life to the fullest, pursued all his interests, without any regrets. He and I used to discuss this all the time; where did our interest lie; was it this software industry where we would be spending our entire professional career? Neither of us wanted to, neither of us were interested enough. He too wasn’t really technically inclined - still we survived and persisted, knowing that a cushier job didn’t exist. He too knew that to leave all this, risk the financial security that this career carries (of course now that is no longer true) was tough….I agreed..

However, both of us had come to the conclusion that this job was a means to an end. An end we had to decide, a passion we had to discover, no matter how long it took. In the meanwhile, this job is there - a comfort, a way to justify the education of engineering, a way to allow extortionate spending on electronics, clothes, dinners, gifts, trips….., but all the while, the restlessness should not cease, we should continuously be searching, pondering, discovering ourselves in the process. I hope I continue doing that.

I have seen him restless many a time, sometimes for days at stretch, because of the monotony around him. He would be disinterested in the work, somewhat dull, as if some deep battles were going on within the mazes of his mind. We’d have a hearty discussion on the state of our lives, the careers, the endless tedium of routine, the same people, the same team and then sometimes, we’d frame some things to do to change things. I usually didn’t go through with them, but we certainly felt better after pinpointing some actions to do.

Once the project closed, we both had the anticipation of new beginnings, and yet we were sad. Good changes always bring unwanted adjustments along with them. Projects changed, locations changed…he went onsite; the day he was leaving, he gave me a gift; we were not to meet again (at least in the near future), since I was getting transferred before he retuned. There was a melancholy in that parting; the moments we spent, sitting next to each other in adjoining cubicles, not having to move anywhere to speak out your feelings to someone who understood and empathized… they had come to an end….

He left, and after some months I got transferred; we still kept in touch, like we had when I was onsite in Beijing (for 10 days) - mails, chat. He occasionally told me, he missed the fact that when he wanted to share something with me, I wasn’t sitting in the next cubicle. I missed that too, but I never told him the same…now I never can.

When I got to know about the tragedy, I was sitting in office, lots of work pending for the day; I was shell shocked and didn’t know what to do. I sat there, staring at the mails, silent - I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t move, I didn’t know who to contact, I just had to get out of there. My throat got dry, I was mentally frozen; another friend who knew the person called me up; she was upset, and somehow that broke my unnatural state. I spoke to her, but words were limited…a current colleague passed by my desk, with a common joke; I somehow managed to tell him to please not start any joke; a dear friend had passed away….

Another five minutes, I just sat there, robotically trying to get some work done. I asked a friend to drop me home. As I left, I told that previously passer-by colleague that I was leaving, to please tell the others; I broke down…

From that instant, and for the next couple of hours or so, the tears just wouldn’t stop. His face kept flashing in front of my eyes, his smile, his voice; the harsh realization that I was never to see or hear him again was unbearable. I could not stand the loss - I had so much to say, discuss with him, so many things I needed to tell him; they would remain unsaid forever…

For me the grief was overwhelming. I felt guilty smiling or laughing; that would mean I wasn’t mourning him. I felt that I couldn’t forget the tragedy, because that would mean I was forgetting him. However, now I know that the tragedy isn’t the only way of remembering him. There are better memories of him to cherish - of happy times, of funny jokes, of silly teasing, of serious thoughts.

At that time, everything felt unreal. Time heals everything it is said; time is healing the wound, but he remains in my consciousness. I want him to always exist there, to give direction to my thoughts, to give clarity to my dilemmas. I wish I could be sure of a heaven, then I’d be happy that there was a second chance of meeting him again.

At this point of time, the only gladness I can feel thinking about him is that he lived a full, though unfinished life; he never left any of his desires for the future. If he wanted to do anything, he did it, be it learning karate, tabla, driving or anything else; I am happy for his soul.

He has left all of us, to a distant world, where I hope he is enjoying as much as he did here; he is in a better place, then why do we mourn him? Because his absence has left a void in all of our hearts. The circumstances of his death will always distress me; I hope he did not feel much pain. It aches to imagine his cheery self in agony…I hope it was all over before he knew it...

Death brings one so much closer to life. His leaving us, made me realise how every moment is a gift - you never know when the next moment is the last. I still regret that the last time he pinged me, I was busy in office and couldn’t chat; I wish I had taken out the time.

Now, as I am left with nothing more to say, the thoughts just swirling around the same face, the same smile, I pray for his family; I hope they have the strength to accept the stark reality.

I can almost feel that Senthil is looking up from above, reading this, smiling and saying…. “Chalo yaar”..

So Many Words Left Unsaid..

This post is dedicated to my friend, philosopher, guide, Senthil Kumar Mahalingam, who had been an avid reader of my lengthy blogs, who read each line patiently, noticing minute details, commenting on each and every post he read.

This piece took a long time to be penned down, and as usual, he kept asking me if I had finished writing it; even though I had shifted cities, we kept in touch regularly. So finally, I sent him however much I had written, incomplete and full of type errors. He cleaned it all up for me, and sent it back to me, along with comments because as he said “I cannot wait until you post it”.

A few days later, he passed away in a tragic accident.

He sent me back the post on a Tuesday if I remember correctly, after which he pinged me on Gtalk, but the busy bee I was those days, I told him we’d talk later; he agreed.
A day later I replied to his mail but I didn’t get a reply, which was odd but I really didn’t get much time to think about that. Come Monday, I shot off another mail, asking if he was very busy these days. No reply and yet I thought, maybe he had gone home. Wednesday, I received the news that the previous Friday, he had met with an accident and died on the way to hospital, but nobody had come to know until Tuesday; I couldn’t believe it, I still thought it was a very distasteful joke he was playing.

It wasn’t.

The news has sunk in finally, but the mind refuses to accept the finality of death; I didn’t realize how much he mattered to me, my musings, until I lost him, his thoughts, his suggestions, his advice.

The post below is only slightly changed from the cleaned version he had sent back; it is incomplete, as was his life, and so I have left it. An unfinished existence, who will always remain in my consciousness, whenever I write something, whenever I need guidance at work, whenever I like some book, music, Senthil.....you have left imprints in my life, mind and heart…………..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Its 10:20 am on a Monday morning and here I am sitting at my office desk, sipping bad machine coffee, earphones of my I-Pod locked into my ears, listening to a random list of endless songs. Having finished checking the weekend mail and playing my share of minesweeper…I am wondering what next to do…

My team members haven’t come yet, all mostly coming between 10 to 11am. After 3 weeks of joining here in Gurgaon, today, I am experiencing the familiar feeling of being relatively free.... yet.

I look around me and think how sometimes, things change so soon, while sometimes, things remain the same for years together…

I had been working in Bangalore for the past 3 years, same company as now and in the same project for the past two years; rather two and a half years. The project had gotten stagnant, with no scope for growth, no onsite assignments, no much challenges; it was a relatively easy-going project, with twenty members, all doing work which, we sometimes felt, even a school going kid could do, given a few days of training. Of course, that’s mostly true for a lot of work done in the IT industry, but lets not go there…

Maybe I am being a little harsh now, maybe time has distorted my perception but yes, this much I can say, there was a lot of scope for self learning, which I didn’t utilize. There was ample time, ample opportunities, but rather than advance myself technologically, I took to writing; lengthy winded blogs…about things which had left an impression on my mind… but which to an impartial/neutral observer would not seem to be very important….small temporary sand sculptures, to be washed away by time…

Nevertheless, for me, they were significant enough…

The project had become a sort of comfort zone, with people I had become comfortable with, easy work, easily acquired leaves, holidays with family, trips with friends. I had my fair share of fun while in the team. You see, the advantage of being in a large team is, less responsibility, less accountability, and best part of all, there’s no such work that can be done by one person. I, being a fresher when I joined the project, took full advantage of the circumstances; I have traveled to more places in the last 2 years than most of my colleagues in different demanding projects. Some of these trips were publicized, some hidden, (I lied through my teeth); people who knew about my absences, and the reasons thereof (who didn’t belong to my team) kept wondering, with what I assume a feeling of general envy, as to how I managed to get away with it all..

Luck, coupled with manipulation and scheming, thinking about every distant possibility (no matter how improbable), every question that could be asked, every untruth that could be revealed...

It was after I returned from one such trip, this time publicized, to Allahabad, to attend a friend’s wedding, and also to visit my alma mater, that I was intimated by a friend in the team that something big had happened in the last few days; some shocking news. The same friend had been supposed to travel to client side that same weekend (when I was on leave). The very fact that he hadn’t, put some seeds of doubt in my mind… but I wasn’t sure. Wild assumptions ran in my mind… but I knew for sure only when I ran into a colleague in the lift as I entered office, who said, ’ Hi… can you believe what did ? it is too bad!’.

I asked what happened,

‘Hey you don’t know? closed the project until further notice..!’

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

It was difficult to believe and digest….

When I reached my seat where the whole team sat, the environment was somewhat unnatural….it wasn’t silent and nobody was sitting in trauma or shock; everyone was in fact discussing the recent development. However, I felt an underlying feeling of insecurity.

What next? Why? Besides me, there were other people who were used to this project, and the mere knowledge that the project no longer existed was unnerving…

I was unsure whether I was happy are not; During the later stages of the project, I had grown to realize that if I had to move ahead, I had to either shift from the project, and since that was virtually impossible while the project continued, or change companies..

So maybe a natural death of the project was a boon in disguise, an involuntary change in environment..

I am not naturally inclined to be ambitious, especially in the field I am in, merely because I am not interested enough. I am not interested in coding, getting lost in the intricacies of C++ or Java. I never was; that’s why I was glad I got into testing. it has a lot opportunities and if one is really career oriented, s/he can go places…provided one takes the initiative. I did not do that either.

My plans were half formed; sometimes I was sure I would do MBA, but never prepared thoroughly, and hence did not get through. Maybe I did not want it really. It was just another means to same end - a career with lots of money, but again, in a field, I couldn’t be all that interested in. I sometimes wonder, where is it that my potential lies - few people have told me it is my writing…I don’t know.. I write when I have the inclination. If someone told me, ‘Give me an article of 1000 words about this issue’ (where the issue could be about current affairs, politics - something important in the context of publishability (if that’s a word), I would be lost. I would not know where to start; so what do I do?

But yes I do think, that out of everything I am capable of, writing is the one thing which I think I like best doing. And yet I don’t where to go from there…

Anyway that wasn’t what I was going to talk about…

I was talking about change….after three years in a city that had become my third home; familiar, friendly, despite all the cons - the traffic, the autowallas, and the expenses, to a different place. There, the pros like friends, the weather, the safety, made my stay there, my first flight into independence, a memorable period …

In Gurgaon, the life is different; initially I hated it; but as it is natural, I am getting used to it. The one thing you cannot avoid is the dust. It is everywhere… despite the trees, the place is like a greenish brownish desert…the weather is extreme, the place known to be unsafe, especially for girls; one learns to adjust accordingly…

8PM on a Wednesday. Gosh! I never imagined that I would sit eleven hours at office… and still waiting… now also, I am so annoyed. I am waiting for another person to give me the code, which I have to test, and finally then I get to leave. The waiting is worse than actually working.

Aaarghhhh!!

Life in Gurgaon Aricent… its different. I miss my old office, my old team members, my cafeteria, the fresh tea/coffee every morning at 11 AM or so (depending upon my arrival in office) and every evening at 4 (almost exactly)…never missed a day. The comforts of familiarity, even the cafeteria people, the juice shop person, the tea/coffee person, the dosa counter people – they all seemed to know me (not by name, but by face). I didn’t even get time to say a word to them; the people who made my work hours easier, my hunger and thirst easily conquered. They probably never missed me in that midst of the crowds of employees … and if they did they probably assumed I’ve moved to greener pastures in a different company.

Here, people seem strangers - no one seems to be a known face to me, the offices lack soul. In all probability, its my personal biased illogical opinion, but even so, the simplicity of the offices (the square-like large stoned buildings, each not more than three floors) – a far call from the modernistic glass structures that are the norm for all IT companies in Bangalore, seem rather cold to me. Added to that the scattered nature of the different buildings of the company… there doesn’t seem to be any charm. I guess I can safely say that I am being extremely prejudicial, now that I am using words like ‘charm’ to describe work places.

There (Bangalore) I lived far from office, and yet I had gotten used to the hour long commutes (one hour on the lower side), that too sometimes changing three buses, standing at the bus stops, waiting. Then in the buses – if I was lucky I would get a seat immediately; sometimes later, rarely I didn’t get one at all. Then, the whole roads were mine to observe - the kids going to school, the kids playing at the schools near the roadside, the ladies carrying baskets of flowers (sometimes some of them sewed them into garlands while sitting in the buses), the daily laborers, with their tools, on their way to another hard day at work, the IT professionals like me, laptops in shoulder bags, burdened by the weight, moving uncomfortably, struggling to release the load, people with folders in their hands, the first page displaying their names, qualifications – resumes; they looked to be going for interviews. All of these people, I observed them… not gaining anything, not interacting with them… yet seeing something in each. I guess now that I try to put it into words, I find it inexplicable, why I liked to see everyone around me. But I loved to watch the crowd; each person with a different aim, a different story, a different expression on his/her face, a different place to go to….

The variety of lives, not all happy, not all sad, not all rich, not all poor, yet all in the same vehicle… moving to their destinations….

Anyway, here in Gurgaon, office is very near and I travel mostly with a friend, or office cab, and the commute time is negligible. I see people, but in autos which seat two people in front, four plus four people in middle (facing each other) and three people at back, facing outside in the open back of the vehicle, looking at the traffic behind. One cannot observe much, but yes I do save time in transit. Here transportation is a pain; there is almost non-existent public transport - no autos where you and you only are the passenger. Like described above, you shared an auto with thirteen others. Public buses... I have seen a few but I’m not sure how regular they are. So you mostly depend on private transport or office cabs…

The dependence irritates me, as I’m not fond of depending on others. But I strive.. I am thankful that at last a few friends are there who drop me and pick me etc.…

The life here is different…

When I came to Bangalore three years back, there was a huge group of classmates there. But then as it happens with time, only the people who mattered stayed in touch, and in a year or so, we had a substantial group. The amazing part was - some people were batch mates, some were roomies of batch mates, one, a cousin of a batch mate, some friends of batch mates… whatever. We had a nice time - the group remained… people came and went. There were many trips, many treats, many unbelievably mad times….

But good times, like bad, never last…

Gradually, changes started happening. Come 2008 and changes became drastic.... a friend got married, one friend got a long term onsite assignment at United States of America, another got a long term assignment in Singapore, another got transferred to Mumbai... all between Feb and June.

Some other personal changes were also happening in my side and I decided that Bangalore had had its share of me. It was time for change…..

And indeed I think I chose the right time; by June end, Bangalore had become desolate for me - my closest friends had left. A few remained, coaxing me not to move… but I knew it was time. They bemoaned each time I mentioned my transfer. But what had to be done had to be done.
I had always loved the city, but the people had made it special… without them, I would rather be somewhere else where I had people I cared about..

8:45PM: Now he tells me that the build is not possible today, and I can leave. Arghhhhh
A quote from my favourite comic strip Calvin & Hobbes explains how I feel right now, “Life's disappointments are harder to take when you don't know any swear words”. I wish I could scream in anger… Haha that would vent it out…I think I am writing all sorts of nonsense….so I’ll stop.

10:24 AM on a Monday morning - a Monday morning after a week at home; home as in Shillong, and I am feeling miserable, missing the last week.
With the advent of low cost flights, the transition from heaven at home to hell at office, doesn’t take too long. When I was in college, from the point I left home, somewhere about one to one thirty in the afternoon, till the time I reached Allahabad, there was a gap of about forty eight hours. This included the overnight stay in Guwahati and the train journey to Allahabad, which never got delayed when going, but invariably always got delayed when coming back home. Additionally, there were friends who also traveled together, so we got used to the impending change by the time we arrived in college. Also, that was college and usually the start of a session; so one generally looked forward to the semester…

But here, in work life, well what is there to really look forward to? Previously in Bangalore, I had gotten used to my team, and although that time too I was miserable, it was not so bad once I got back. Now, well, I was still in the process of getting used to this office in Gurgaon, and this trip has become a severe setback.

Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to share..

The trip back home, after a year; last year too I went during Dussehra. Although after that, I did meet my parents several times, but not at home. Those trips I mentioned earlier – there.

Going home is always a different feeling – the place you grew up in, the streets you walked through to go to school, to just get to a taxi (Shillong being a hilly place, several areas are such where public transport is not available and one has to walk to reach a place where the same is available), the shops with their owners growing older day, the ‘Chanachur’ (local equivalent of Bhelpuri) vendor, who has been selling the same spicy mixture at the same locality for as long as I can remember, my home, the feeling of sitting with a hot water bag beneath my cold feet, TV remote in hand, or a novel, my parents always around, sometimes arguing (mostly), complaining about each other to myself or my brother..:), and then, finally the Durga Pujas - the four days of festivities that bring together, not only families, but communities, localities, colonies…

There is the general perception, that Durga Pujas are celebrated only in West Bengal, mainly Kolkata; Bengalis come only from Kolkata. Most people don’t know that there are a large population of Bengalis living in other parts of the East, mostly Shillong, Assam, Tripura, and other states of the North East. There too, the Durga Pujas are celebrated with as much fervour, as in West Bengal, maybe not in as grand a scale, but in proportion to (and considering) the populace of Bengalis in that place, excellently.

Born and brought up in Shillong, I have almost always celebrated the Pujas there, and the times I was someplace else, I missed Shillong terribly during those four days…

Durga Pujas, to a non-Bengali (and many Bengalis too), is a religious event - the worship of the Durga Goddess. But to us in Shillong, it is more of a social festival, a culmination of many days of organization, arrangements, and events; the Pujas might happen for five days, counting “Shashti” (literally means ‘Sixth Day’ but actually is the day before the actual start of festivities) and “Dashami” (literally means ‘Tenth Day’ but actually is the day after the actual Pujas), but the work behind it starts from months before – meetings, planning, collection of funds, sponsors, and hundred other assorted jobs. It’s not an easy job, but people in our colony have been doing it for seventy three years - people changed, the crowd changed, the sponsors might have changed, but the Goddess remained, every year at the same place, the mini field of the Laitumkhrah Bengali Girls High School, Upper New Colony. The school has always been the venue, with some of its classrooms used as storerooms, a hall used as space for Prasad bitoron (distribution and/or serving of the lunch Prasad for all who wished to eat).

I am not a religious person by nature - I guess I am agnostic; but I look forward to the Pujas as much as all others, because that is a time to spend with family, sitting in our colony’s pandal, looking around at the kids playing with their small guns, running around, screaming in general, the dhaak (large percussion instrument) playing on and off, shouting to each other during the playing, feeling an unnatural silence, when the musicians stopped playing, the competitions like Quiz, Musical Chairs going on, the aura of light in the pedestal where the idols were placed in their magnificence. Durga, the conquered Asura, Lakshmi and Saraswati at her sides, followed by Ganesh and Kartik at their respective sides; Durga Puja is not only about Durga Goddess, it is a Pujas of other Gods too -wealth, knowledge, success, and war…

There are so many aspects in the worship of Durga during these four days; I would not be able to say much given that I am not into idol worship as such. But for most people, especially ladies, every ritual has a meaning, a significance, which has to be performed in a particular way and no other way. All I can say is that, standing in front of the beautiful idol(s), Durga, with the most divinely benevolent, at the same time, fierce expression on her face as she destroys the Asura, the dhaak playing continuously, loud yet inevitably suiting the place, the incense creating a sweet sense of beauty; I can only be awed. This is how it can only be… all of this…or none of it; one cannot worship the Goddess with lesser. Many people spend all day in the pedestal, arranging things - the incense, the prasad, the lamps, the flowers, the fruits, while some sit below, just looking at the Gods; as if just looking at Durga’s idol would suffice for their devotion. I don’t pay that much attention; but that first glance at Durga, on Shasti, or Saptami, all decorated, all powerful, magnificent in her opulence, her 10 hands holding weapons as well as other things (which I do not recall, rather I do not know), I feel …at peace.. as if in her aura, there is strength, I am unable to describe the feeling….I think it is contentment, mingled with awe.

In our colony, nowadays, the celebrations start from quite before the actual Pujas, a lot of cultural competitions – Yes, Bengalis and culture are inseparable. Singing competitions; it doesn’t stop just at that.. Nazrul geeti, Rabindra Sangeet, lok geeti (Kazi Nazrul Islam’s songs, Rabindranath Tagore’s music, folk songs) — competitions for different categories for different age groups, dance completions (these also have categories but I can’t recall), Elocution, (Bengali, English) again with categories for different age groups, - these all are conducted before, (I guess in the school itself) in progression before the Pujas.

Then comes Shashti, the day Durga arrives in her vehicle, (hypothetically); our house is located at such a distance and position from the pandal that, if one stands outside when the dhaakiyas (musicians who play the dhaak) start playing their drums, heralding the welcome of Durga this year, one can see her face while she is being carried to the pandal. We used to do that when we were kids; Come evening; we couldn’t wait to put on our new or almost new apparel (depending on the number of new garments one had been gifted from relatives) and stroll to the pandal to offer our first prayers to Durga, to see the Shasti puja, the finished pandal, the decorations and the cultural functions.

The pujas in our colony have been the same for as long back as I remember; the structure, the arrangements etc. As one enters the gate of the school, and walks down the steps of the school, one can start seeing acquaintances… people of the colony, down there. The first glimpse of the pandal - the mostly maroon cloth, with decorations in white, some steps then a landing where some stalls are being arranged for tea, coffee, snacks, etc. Further down is the actual pandal; the moment one enters, one can see the idols far ahead at the other end. The space between is occupied by chairs and the stage at the other (near) end of the pandal; i.e. imagine if you can a rectangle with the shorter ends containing the gods at one side and the stage at the other…people switching from one to the other side…according to the activities taking place..”

This was Senthil’s comment:
“Few comments - I cannot wait till you post it.

You are almost killing IT professional's dignity. Is it not a dignified job for some dignified people like me? :-)
Try to squeeze out every juice IT job has to offer... before OBAMA's foreign policy come into action or 2nd great economic depression. Save and make good money for the rainy days ahead.

[I look around me and think how sometimes, things change so soon, while sometimes, things remain the same for years together…]
Just a closer of a project has changed much... Imagine someone offering us pink slips.... [my friend was offered recently]. We might get lost in the intricacies of "CHANGE++"... advanced version of change !

[Traveled to most places....some hidden, (I lied through my teeth);]
Hmm... I knew it. You lied in ESS as well

[But for most people, especially ladies, every ritual has a meaning, a significance, which has to be performed in a particular way and no other way. All I can say is that, standing in front of the beautiful idol(s), Durga, with the most divinely benevolent, at the same time, fierce expression on her face as she destroys the asura, the Dhaak playing continuously, loud yet inevitably suiting the place, the incense creating a sweet sense of beauty; I can only be awed. This is how it can only be… all of this.. or none of it.. One cannot worship the Goddess with lesser.. Many people spend all day in the pedestal, arranging things… the incense, the prasad, the lamps, the flowers, the fruits, while some sit below; just looking, at the Gods; as if just looking at Durga’s idol would suffice for their devotion. I don’t pay that much attention; but that first glance at Durga, on Shasti, or Saptami, all decorated, all powerful, magnificent in her opulence, her 10 hands holding weans as well as other things (which I do not recall. Rater I do not know)… I feel …at peace... as if in her aura, there is strength, I am unable to describe the feeling….I think it is contentment, mingled with awe….]

Above is very nice paragraph..."

Deleted Orkut Profile - III

Yet another profile that will be deleted in the future..Guess she doesn't like blankness too much.
Twisted - bothering on the convoluted, sometimes she herself is not too sure what actually is goin on in her mind..
Too many people have told her that shes a little crazy...she doesn't know.. she agrees partially.. she speaks and does what pleases.. often with disastrous results..
Pushing the limit of frankness towards bluntness....she doesn't know how to keep her mouth shut when it should have been taped, stapled and bound...
Opinionated, and stubborn, one can't expect her to come down from her high ropes if she fancies she has taken a stand or decision or formed an opinion...
Her friends are limited, acquaintances are numerous....as usual...
She loves melody, sitcoms, new places, train journeys, views from flights, the night sky, the cool beach breeze, sunsets, junk food, chocolates, movies...
Chats with almost no one...and doesnt think she can manage new friends...especially on the net..
Guess that just about explains my imaginary best friend...
Hahah!
Kidding..
Am I?

...A Little Bit of Love...

Foreward: I'd sent this piece to a site which works like an online magazine and publishes selected stuff. However, since after about a month, i received no feedback from them, I decided to go ahead and post it here. Probably they didn't like the piece and chose not to reply... Anyway, here goes..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is rather ironic how things have changed after the last treatise on my team. Well, after my trip down memory lane, when I got back, I received a big shock. In my absence, one fine day, my team had had a meeting and our director gave us some shocking and unexpected news: there had been some management changes in our client side and they had frozen all outsourced work until further notice. So in effect, suddenly, within a few minutes, we were all project-less, on bench, as it is called in the IT industry. Thus, the very people we had been mocking for 2 years, the people who had not been allocated projects and spent all day doing nothing but surfing the internet or in the cafeteria - we were to become one of them.

None of my team could believe it and neither could I. An unexpected change brings in other unexpected and unwanted changes; involuntary challenges but challenges none the less. Most of us were apprehensive, and yet looking forward to new ways, new work, new tests.

It took quite some time for the news to sink in; we had no clue what the future held; our Senior Project Manager assured us that we’d be re-allocated to other projects except a few who would be retained just in case the project got restarted. So there still was a fragment of hope that things would go back to the same old days, where all us, so familiar with each other, so at ease with the team and where work was actually work n play, would again be working in one team. Yet, we knew, at the back of our minds, that things had changed irreversibly, for better or worse.

Anyway, within a few days, things began to move fast; some had already had discussions with other teams’ managers, an interview of sorts, some had been offered work in other teams, while some were to stay back, on bench till there was a final word from our erstwhile client. Initially, I was ready to move out, but then the prospect of free time, after so long, looked tempting. Additionally, I wanted to go home, and I wasn’t sure if would get leave in a new project. So, I decided to stay back for the wait until positive there was positive or negative confirmation about our project.

We were all going in different directions, and seeing that there was no surety as when who would move, the team decided to fulfill the self made promise we had made at the beginning of the year; that each month, combining all the birthdays in that month, we would collect money (as we would have if we had bought presents for the birthday guys) and give it to charity. Probably we could select different charities each month. That way we could be doing a little something for society in whatever small way we could.
We had all agreed; after all it was a good chance to do something charitable, if not ourselves, as a team. However, now with things going all haphazard, and no idea who was moving where and when, we decided to do the charity work atleast once before we all parted ways. And so, what was to have been a monthly exercise had to be reduced to a one time activity. We had a discussion about different charity organizations and concluding which was the best option - finally we all decided to donate to an organization called Nirmala Shishu Bhavan (of the Missionaries of Charity).

The organization is a branch of the renowned charity association started by Mother Teresa. This particular branch is dedicated to taking care of abandoned and orphaned infants and mentally challenged kids, with ages ranging from new born to about six-seven years.

We had mutually agreed that rather than giving cash, it was better to buy them what they needed; some team members volunteered to go do there to get the requirements. The coming Saturday they went and subsequently bought the requested articles – biscuits, blankets, food, clothes, etc. with the money we had all contributed. It had been decided that we would all go to the organization and spend some time with the kids before handing over the bought stuff and the remaining cash.

It was a sunny afternoon when some twenty of us left office for the organization; most of us were there but some two-three guys couldn’t make it as they had discussions with the new teams they were joining - a rather disheartening first sign of disintegration..

It was late afternoon by the time we reached the place. The organization is built on an average sized area, with two double storey buildings and plenty of space out front. As we enter the premises, there is a statue of Mother Teresa holding a child – it is like a shrine. At the other side of the place, in the area between the two buildings, through a gate of sorts, some firewood is kept. Some trees complete the austere picture.
In one of the buildings, the door was left wide open with a bell (literally) hanging outside for any visitors. As we rang the bell, we could hear the kids inside, and yet nobody came out. We rang several times, looked inside for any sign of someone hearing us, and waited...

After some time of looking around, finally a nun came out of the other building. Probably that was the administrative part as well as the sleeping quarters of the staff. She came out, and seeing so many people at once was pretty surprised; she asked if we all are together. We replied in unison, ‘yes’.

She told us to not hesitate and enter the other building (with the open door) to meet the kids. As we entered, I could see that this was a kind of visitors’ room, with all kinds of commemorative certificates, photos etc. framed and hung on the walls. There was a photo of Mother Teresa with another smiling nun. I couldn’t read what written below the snap; probably that nun was Sister Nirmala - the head of this organization. At the other side if the room was another door which led to a corridor as well as to a staircase to the first floor. There were around two-three rooms, all contained kids as could be inferred from the voices emanating from there. We all proceeded to meet them.

Personally, when I met these orphaned kids, luckless, and yet fortunate to have atleast found the care of this organization, I felt things I have never felt before - the experience was a journey of realization in understanding the distressing nature of real life.

The first room we entered had several cots (or cribs) lined in several rows with space to walk by each, but only a few were occupied. There were about five kids there at that time, with the total number of around fifteen to twenty cots. Whether the rest of the cots were always empty, or had occupants who were currently elsewhere, I didn’t know. One team member frequently visited the place and spent time with the children; he took us around and told us the history of a few kids. The images still linger in my mind and probably will, for a long time to come.

There was (is) a seven year old child who was still lying on his back on the cot, crying occasionally, while replying to some of the words spoken by our familiar team member. He conversed in Tamil and the kid replied in kind, if somewhat disjointedly. I noticed that most of the kids who were old enough to understand and speak could understand the words in Tamil that my team members were murmuring to them. Why, the boy, being seven, was still physically about four years old (he looked really small), and why he was lying down all the time, I didn’t have the courage to ask. Most of the time, I was silent. For one, my speaking English wasn’t getting understood, and I’m not the kind who can be kind, who can speak coaxingly with kids - any kids, be they my cousins or these destitute children. I tried to talk to a few of them, but most of the time they didn’t respond. It is probably something lacking in me, that prevents me from being warm hearted. In my mind, I felt their pain, but my face would probably have shown indifference..

There was (is) a small girl about four-five years of age who was (is) very friendly with all of us, mostly. She talked to whoever talked to her, replied with smart answers in Tamil, laughed, came to anyone’s arms, smiled, and mixed around very well. She was radiant, even though dusky in complexion, and her eyes shone; she looked to be an intelligent child. I don’t know whether these kids are send to school, I hope they are, because I have a feeling this cute girl will bloom, given the right attention and care. She looked to be happy that she had company, while the rest of the kids there mostly seemed annoyed. I guess it was natural; it could hardly be a nice feeling - to be stared at each day, by people with looks of sympathy. Yes, maybe they were too small to understand emotions like pity and sympathy, but they were children after all, and almost no kids like strangers.

Another girl of similar age was in the cot next to the bright girl. Although she wasn’t as friendly, she too didn’t look to be disturbed; she kept moving around from one place to the other, observing us. I don’t know why I felt that she didn’t get as much attention as the other girl, and she seemed to want it. To my inexperienced eyes, she looked to be a little envious of all the fun her contemporary was having with us, while she wandered out, as if not caring at all. I hope all that conjecture was just a figment of my imagination; I cannot be sure.

One boy remains painted in my memory; he was unlike all the others. Barely two-three years old, he had burns all over his body, from head to toe. It seems he had 2nd degree burns when he had been brought there and had been in a worse condition than he was now. Now, the burns seemed to have dried up; even though they left permanent scars on his mind and body, he didn’t look to be in pain. He wasn’t crying or moaning, but his body told a different story. I wondered how it was that a two year old boy got 2nd degree burns on his entire body and then was left at the organization to heal – the realization that the answers could be nothing less than horrifying left me reluctant to ask the questions.

All the time we were there in that room, he sat motionlessly, without stirring a single bit. He had eyes which looked hard at you and which spoke volumes, in a language I couldn’t understand, i.e., I was unable to gauge what was in his mind as he looked at us. He was uncommunicative; he sat in his cot, immobile, with a plaything held in front of him, as if trying to guise his wounds. He didn’t look around, he wasn’t curious, and he didn’t respond to anything any of us said to him. He didn’t seem disturbed or annoyed that we were there, if you looked at him, he looked straight back at you, as if challenging you, and yet he didn’t speak a word. A few of us tried to talk to him, in fact I drew the attention of some team members about him so that they’d try to converse with him, but to no avail. After a few attempts we gave up. As we all moved from his place, my eyes looked back at him, and I noticed that now that no one was crowding around him, he had removed the plaything and was looking about, as if relieved that he was off the hook. I still cannot forget those defiant hard eyes…as if accusing us for his state.

Another infant was there in another cot; a tiny girl who kept crying for quite some time. I went by her side, helpless, unable to discover the reason for her cries. A helper was walking by - she came and held her in her arms. She talked to the little girl, as all adults do with kids, and which I am incapable of doing - sweet nothings, smiling, cajoling, cradling. During the whole time the lady was there, she quieted down. The moment she left, the bawling started again. None of us could help, our standing there and trying to cheer her up, didn’t help. She seemed to be in pain – uncomfortable, restless, twisting and turning all about the cot. However, the instant the lady reappeared, she relaxed, as if comforted. Guess children of such a tender age too have the sense of affectation for people closest to them, people who take care of them and make them feel protected and safe.

Just next to this room with cots, there was another room, slightly airier and spacious and there were more children there – about ten. There were one or two 2 large mattresses spread together on the floor of this room, and the kids (ages ranging from two to four years) were all mostly lying down there. One or two slightly older kids were sitting on the benches places next to the mattresses - one of the older children kept on moaning and crying, making wailing sounds, as if bothered or in pain or irritated. There was a cacophony of voices actually, emanating from him, and some of the younger ones lying down, and also the staff helpers attending to the children, who were cajoling or scolding them.

I was somewhat taken aback by these kids. They were not ill, but they all looked somewhat unwell; lethargic, rolling on the mattresses, tossing and turning, some crying, some looking up at the roof, but most with a blank kind of look on their faces, as if staring past us. It was a very depressing room inspite of the sunlight rushing into the rooms through the open doors.
I wonder why the kids were so enervated - not moving, not happy… were they mentally ill? I hadn’t asked. But I haven’t ever seen kids so lulled, so dull, not just in terms of activity, but their faces, especially their lacklustre eyes; they didn’t seem to hold any happiness, hope or cheer.

As the others interacted with some of the kids, I felt a profound sense of despair. My standing there, seeing the children, I felt unreal. These less than fortunate children were the reality - the comfort of my childhood, the love and support of my family, the education, the luxury of choices, everything seemed to have existed in an alternate world - guilty pleasures that I had been privileged to get when I had been a little girl.

These innocent kids, they had to share love and care of the staff and the nuns, one among so many. Where would they find the love they deserved, the care that each born child has a right to? Leave aside the education (though that too is important) but lets waive that for the time being, just the personal attention - of having parents look after you, support you, guide you and above all treasure you, where would they find that? I don’t know how these orphanages work, do they offer adoption? Do these kids have the chance to get adopted by a good family? I wish I could confidently say ‘yes’ but I can’t because I know, that although there are chances, they are very slim.

Somewhat disheartened by these thoughts, I moved out of the room. Further down the corridor, on the other side, there was another room; I went there. Here the situation was no different, except perhaps the kids were older. One girl, about seven years of age, had her foot in one of those metallic frames (which are used to support the foot); she was sitting near the door, facing us. As we looked inside, wondering whether we should enter or not, she kept signalling something all the while. She pointed her hand forward, and then put it down on the floor and tried to say something; I guess she had some disorder, because she wasn’t able to articulate the words.
We were in a quandary as to whether she was forbidding us to enter (the hand forward as a sign of ‘Stop’) or welcoming us to come in and sit on the floor. She repeated the gestures several times - finally we hesitatingly entered the room, unsure if she’d react negatively. Turns out she was in fact welcoming us in, because as soon as we entered, she signaled to sit on the floor. The sight which met us inside was similar to the previous rooms. Like the earlier children, here too there were immobile kids; some lying down, attended to by the staff, and three (including the girl who had called us) were sitting. The other two were seated in some fixed kind of seat, with a table like structure attached, so that one sitting on the seat couldn’t move much. Their limbs had some problem, which was in the process of getting fixed, avoiding movement as much as possible; hence the seats. I looked around, feeing the now familiar sense of helplessness. I didn’t sit down, but came out, even though the child with the metallic frames kept on gesturing to sit down. While some others of my team remained, I walked out of the room.

Some team members were walking upstairs, so I joined them. The rest of my team was also now visibly less boisterous, spending time with the kids, trying to make a difference in whatever small way possible. Upstairs, there was one contained room, which had very young infants in cribs. We could not enter but glanced through the window. They were all so tiny; most were sleeping while some were crying. There was one abnormal child – she/he had an unnaturally large head compared to her/his body; double the size of what would have been the normal size for his body. We couldn’t look in much and yet we could make out that the baby had some problem. Another baby was bleeding – whether she/he was hurt or the bleeding was internal I don’t know; a nun was bandaging the wound tenderly and yet deftly. Because of the entry restriction, we couldn’t do anything else and so moved away from the window.

Further ahead was the terrace kind of part of the floor, with the top covered, and the side wall absent except a wooden railing. This part of the building was a like a large covered balcony. As it was open partially, fresh air and bright sunlight illuminated the place, somehow lifting our spirits. Besides the surroundings, the place itself was cheerful; it was like a playhouse - two small swings, two miniature slides, other playthings which I can’t recall, all vivid in multiple hues. There were five kids in prams - two were napping, and the other three were interacting with the team members who were there..

To my relief, for their sake, these few babies looked well - physically and mentally; they looked happy. One tiny girl, smiling as one my team members approached her crib and fondly touched her cheek, and two tiny guys, looking with a look of wonderment in their faces. Their eyes and faces held the shine and glow that is normally present in kids; they looked to be enjoying our visit, putting out their hands to anyone who proffered theirs, holding the fingers tightly wrapped around their little fingers, getting amused by the coaxing and cajoling sounds made by us. Here I also interacted, not so much with words but with touch, gestures, facial expressions and smiles. Now, when I think back, I wonder why it was that with these cheerful children, I was able to get along, while with the other less happier ones, I was withdrawn and unable to communicate. Rather shallow of me I guess; I’m not comfortable with suffering and pain.

Here too, the staff/volunteer/attendant was sitting with the babies, entertaining them as well as taking care of them. Momentarily, I thought about them too, devoting their lives to the cause of these children, not having time for their personal lives. I wonder how they can be normal, seeing so much of pain and unfairness around them everyday. Taking care of these orphaned children, loving them, spending time with them, for no reason that is beneficiary to themselves – that is indeed selfless. What is it that induces them to do it, and how do they do it? It is indeed admirable.

Looking at the infants’ bright faces, I realized that besides the financial and materialistic help, (and perhaps more than that), these orphans need love, attention, care, opportunities, a family. People like us might contribute in terms of money (mainly perhaps to salve our personal consciences), but how many come to actually spend time with these kids - to shower some affection and love on these less fortunate angels?

We all look at the state of things, condemn them, complain, sympathize, but how many of us do anything? I include myself because I’m guiltier of a bigger crime. Atleast the others are more or less ignorant about the state of affairs, but me, even after visiting that place, being affected by it, I haven’t gone again. Despite knowing the reality, I cannot bring it upon myself to take the initiative, to rouse myself from inactivity and visit the orphanage again. I’m scared, frankly. I am afraid of the pain in the eyes of the children, the stories of their lives, and the ugly face of reality.

The feelings of guilt have always stung occasionally, before and after this orphanage trip. The pricks to conscience hit me when I see a beggar on the street, or when I see young children selling stuff on the traffic signals, or when I see old people who still have to work for their living (in a time where they should be resting) - so many times, and yet I do not know how to change things. I know small steps go a long way, but I haven’t taken any, till date. Doesn’t make one feel anything more than despicable does it?

To go back to what I was saying… after seeing these kids, i.e. the bubbly babies in the prams, my heart lightened a little. On that heartening note, after giving the money (for which we got a tax exemption receipt, which was unusable because we had given the donor name as our organization) and the things we had bought, we left the place. On our way back, everyone was quieter, lost in their own thoughts. I guess mentally, everyone was still in the orphanage that we had just left behind, their thoughts still wandering around the people they had met, the kids they had spent time with, the state of things. My Project Manager was the only one still talking lightly, about the institution and other sister organizations. I replied to him, uttering the appropriate sentences at the appropriate time, because I had to; he was sitting across me and it would have been rather rude if nobody had answered.

That evening left a lasting impression on my mind, and I’m sure on the others too. Forces of the corporate world had made a sudden attack on our well being; the team of long standing, working in harmony (with of course some problems), was finally split. Nobody knew what the future held for them. Yet, despite the state of confusion that each of our careers was in, that visit made us see the bigger perspective - we still had a job, and had had a childhood filled with love. These blameless children had just stepped into this harsh world and they had no clue, being taken care by a group of selfless people, striving to make their lives better. We have no right to feel bad about ourselves – there is a long queue of people who deserve that sympathy more than our self-pitying selves.

As I sat there in the cab, I looked around me, at my team of the past two memorable years. A team which worked together, laughed together, lunched together (sometimes), discussed together, now as a final farewell, gave together. It felt good that we had done a small infinitesimal part to help these kids; a final bow before the last show, one good cause before the parting. Now, new horizons await us, we are left with many memories, some that might grow fainter with time, and some, which will never fade. The children at Shishu Bhavan take their place in the latter; an indelible footprint on the sands of our time together…

..A Bittersweet Aftertaste..

Another trip, another experience, this time with a difference; it was a trip down memory lane.
I was going back to college, literally.
The occasion was irresistible – a close friend’s wedding, a batch-mate who is the son of a professor (don’t know the exact post) in our college, who lived in the campus, and whose house we occasionally raided back in college days…

The train journey from Delhi to Allahabad was a noisy one; some of us had landed in Delhi, some were from Delhi (Gurgaon, Noida) and the bunch of us destroyed the tranquility of an otherwise quiet AC coach. Almost half the night was spent in catching up, and planning for the coming 2-3 days - where to go, who to definitely meet, what to definitely see, etc. etc.

It looked to be a promising trip.

It was seven in the morning and none of us felt like waking up. One friend had found out; supposedly we were about twenty-five kilometres from Allahabad. As all of us, such intelligent engineers, had no idea how much time the train would take to cover that, we decided to get up from our warm bunks.

Whether it was wrong information about distance, or the train always takes more than an hour to cover twenty-five kilometres, is uncertain. Whatever it was, when the train halted at a relatively unknown looking station with hardly any people, we were not expecting it to be Allahabad Junction station, even though we had been told by co-passengers and the train staff that it was.

Confirmation was made and we descended from the train, all ready with so many bags, as if we were staying for weeks. Our groom-in-waiting had come to pick us up. Well, actually I was going to stat ay my Bangalore room-mate’s place, while the rest were going with the groom to the college Guest House (GH) where he had made arrangements.

As we all stepped out of the station, I looked around, expecting what I’m still not sure – probably some changes, something major. But I was destined to be disappointed, at that time and, and, as I was to find out later, for most of the coming two-three days.

It was the same place; the same rickshaws driven by rather emaciated and elderly people, the same local version of the autorickshaw, called the Tempo (or Vikram), still asking for a larger sum than usual, assuming us to be new to the place. Although now, even the exaggerated sum didn’t sound so much; I guess living in a costly city like Bangalore changes the way one values things.

The one change we could make out was that the eating joint just outside the station that had started while we were in college had been broken down. It looked sad, with broken pieces of bricks and mortar lying around. Though we hadn’t frequented the place as much as other places, it was still some change..

As we drove to my room-mate’s place, we crossed some familiar places, and they didn’t seem changed - the town seems to brushing past life slowly, sleepily, at its own sweet pace, not in a hurry at all. Its as if this city is lulling the citizens too, as if saying to them ‘let the big cities and metros do the rushing, this city always sleeps..’

After freshening up, I headed to Civil Lines (the major market place in Allahabad) to meet the others who were wandering around, doing some shopping, along with a friend’s sister (lets call her Junior) who’s currently studying in our college. As I sat on the rickshaw, I realized it was after quite some time that I had ridden in one of these. I looked around as we crossed familiar lanes, familiar buildings; I realized that change couldn’t really hit such places in so short a span of time (almost 3 years) - nothing drastic would ever happen.

Anyway one new development in the city was a new mall that had opened up in the heart of the city (Civil Lines). Well, it wasn’t all snazzy and well maintained like the malls in other cities I guess, but it’s a start -McDonalds’, Big Bazaar and some more outlets, that was about it..

After wandering around in the Civil Lines streets, drinking ‘ganne ka juice’ (sugarcane juice spiced with a tinge of pudina and salt), we bargained with the Tempo-walas, and finally finding one who was willing to go at a reasonable rate, headed towards my room-mate’s place. I had decided to move to the guest house, as mostly all of the people were there, so I was collecting my stuff from there. Inspite of having gone to her place so many times in the past, we lost our way; we called her and somehow managed to reach her place after a lot of wrong turns and wrong TV towers (the landmark next to her place). Then, we headed to college.

There was an undercurrent of anticipation in my mind; back to campus…those old streets, those old lanes, would have much changed? I didn’t know.
As we entered the campus through the main gate, it didn’t seem (like everything else) to have changed much. I didn’t get the opportunity to look around that much, what with holding the multitude of things there with us.
Anyway, since the others were otherwise occupied, after keeping the luggage in the GH, I went to the girls hostel with Junior, who is currently in 2^nd year (if I remember correctly).

KNGH – hmmmm.. Kamala Nehru Girls Hostel – the place I spent most of my four years..

Going there again, this time as a guest; it was a new feeling. In retrospect, I think that had I gone there with a contemporary, a fellow hosteller of my batch, people with whom I had shared good times in those corridors and rooms, then I wouldn’t have felt as weird as I did.

When we entered, Junior was reminded by the guard sitting there to sign the Hostel register. Old rules which would never change – every student had to sign in while leaving (even for college), and sign again on return, with the time etc. Well, at least the guard was new; i.e. his face didn’t look familiar.

It had been almost three years, so basically, the juniors who were in first year when we were in final year, were now in final year. I.e., the girls we’d seen as scared freshers, always looking to be busy in studies, respecting us, (false or real I can’t say), were now the confident final year dames that all freshers eventually evolve to after 3 years of submissive behaviour. Besides them, nobody knew me (obviously) and the regal treatment we used to get when we were in final year by all juniors, was missing. Except the few juniors who were present at that time, who recognized me and said the general ‘Hi Hello’, nobody knew me; I was a stranger, in a place that had been a second home…

My being alone there further accentuated the feeling of not belonging there; had someone else been there with me, we could have reminisced and wandered around. Since nobody else was, I felt… well… alone.

The hostel was strangely quiet for a late Saturday afternoon. In our time, this time of the year the final year would be lazing around in the courtyard until the sun was shining its last rays, and then in rooms, all in clusters, mostly never alone - chatting, watching movies, gossiping, or playing games and all of this, with the doors open, loud music playing. Some lazier human beings would also be sleeping, in the coziness of their own or someone else’s room. Well, come to think of it, besides the courtyard part, most of the other mentioned activities went on for 2^nd and 3^rd years too, and with limited privileges, for 1^st year too.

While evening set in, people would be seen getting ready to go out someplace, probably Civil Lines or college Canteen; out of hostel, taking full advantage of the half an hour’s extension of hostel deadline from 8:30 PM to 9 PM. It used to be a loud noisy place - music, shouts, calling people from one corner to the other. Another additional noise had been the voice of someone or the other, calling out from the ground floor, for someone else, if that someone else’s phone call had come on the extension phone or the PCO, or someone had called at the hostel gate.

Now, with everyone owning cell phones, the use of the extension phone or the PCO for receiving calls had significantly reduced. Or maybe, just that evening, the hostel was exceptionally silent; no loud screams (perhaps for a stray lizard found in a reptile-phobic girl’s room), no calls, no music and most of all, no people. There was hardly anyone around; on enquiring, I got to know that there was some mock campus going on and final year students were taking campus for 3^rd year students. Wow! If I recall, I think the same was there in our time too, but never this seriously that everyone had to be in college on a Saturday evening. Even though we had been only about 27 girls, the hostel had never been lacking our presence for such noble purposes as campus for juniors. Supposedly now it was mandatory…Haha…. thank God we didn’t have to do all that.

So anyhow, that was a disappointing start. As I walked towards the 2^nd floor, where Junior’s room was (second years got second floor, third years got first floor, and final years got ground floor while the first years were in a different new wing), I looked around, As expected, things hadn’t changed, except for the walls.

When we were in first year, our final year had started the custom of painting one whole wall as a token of remembrance of the batch. All subsequent years had followed suit, and when it was our turn, for the 4^th painting on the walls, we realized that none of the remaining wall facades were suitable to painting because there were other activities involved besides just painting the wall.
Following our seniors, we would have the ‘100 day countdown’ before college ends, (in our case it was 50 days), and every 2-3 days (according to the number of girls in the batch), we would all have get-togethers next to our artistic creation, and one girl would have her day that day - a day where she’d dress up and share her special moments, in college as well as elsewhere, sing, dance, act, whatever she wanted to or the rest demanded. So, the wall to be painted should be well located. During our time, the walls which were still blank were somehow not suited; either they were near the bathrooms, or dustbins, or occupied by MBA, MCA students (since our batch strength was so low, the ground floor was occupied by other girls from non-engineering streams too).

So we committed the sacrilege of scraping off our immediate seniors’ mural completely, little by little. Then we plastered the whole wall, painted over it, that too with a totally black background (so that everybody thought twice before erasing ours in later years), and also put a coat of varnish over that. As I looked now, our subsequent batches had also followed our suit, and two new murals had now replaced the earlier batches’ paintings. Our batch’s one looked to be the next victim of erasure; I guess that was inevitable, I was just thankful that it was present at the time when I went - I would have been heartbroken had it been already painted over.

Besides that, well everything else looked to be the same; the badminton court without the net, the large courtyard, the PCO, the stationery shop inside the hostel. I didn’t venture into any of my former rooms, I think I would’ve liked to but at that time, I was feeling a little low, being there all alone and so avoided it. Probably it would have been rather silly to be knocking on the doors of the rooms I’d formerly occupied, asking permission to enter from a girl I didn’t even know. What would I have seen inside?

The memories were resurfacing, but there was no one around to share them with; the familiar faces were absent and so were the comforting laughter, screams, the hedonistic nothingness… they were all a distance apart…back in time.

When I entered Junior’s room, somehow it seemed smaller than before, perhaps that was because of the somewhat clustered placement of the few pieces of furniture - the bed, the ubiquitous table with the PC, the chair with loads of stuff dumped on it, books, clothing, etc., the cluttered shelves filled with assorted stuff, some eatables, some cosmetics, books, toiletries, amongst other things. Basically each room is one’s whole world, all in some square feet of space, and the above description is mostly what all hostel rooms are like; some might be neater, more organized, while others worse - but than it’s your own room, do whatever you want…that’s the freedom you have.

On hearing some of the woes of Junior, regarding power cuts, teachers, classes, I was conscious of a feeling of achievement of having survived…the place, the people, the shortages, the extremes…

After some time, we went back to the GH, and got dressed for the ‘Tilak’ ceremony - some kind of pre-nuptial ceremony, more like the traditional version of the Engagement, except in this case the bride isn’t present at the function.

The ceremony was held on the grounds of the GH itself and when we reached, the preparations were going on; the decoration, the arrangement, the music, the food, etc. The invitation card said 5 PM, but of course nothing happened before 7 PM. It was chilly and as most of the sitting arrangements were al fresco, we didn’t have much choice but to enjoy the cold of Allahabad. We all sat there in a circle, with some extra friends of the colony, a junior who also happened to be the groom’s cousin. There were our former professors all around; it was a different feeling. We still respected them, yes, but we were no longer uncomfortable around them; we were behaving normally in front of them, and not a whiff of the discomfiting feeling one gets, if one meets their teachers in any surroundings other than class or college.

Some professors recognized us, some ignored, some smiled, somewhat vaguely, aware that they would have had taught us at some point of time, but not recalling anything beyond that. Yet, in this case, the knowledge that these professors hadn’t changed, was comforting. Not all change is good, and seeing them all again, a feeling of permanence of the place arose - it felt good.

A few of us went and talked to the teachers we liked and respected a little more than the rest, asking if they remembered us, I guess they did remember. Since I wasn’t one of those to go and approach my professors, I really couldn’t say.

There’s a particular teacher, who is the kind of person everyone is in awe of, and a little scared of too, because he remembers everything and everyone. People he met once, no matter how long ago, remain inscribed on his memory. When he took our first subject, it was in 4^th semester I think, and the first day, he made everyone tell their names and something they had expertise in. After that one day, he still remembered most of the details a year and a half later when he took another subject in another semester.
That evening, he came up and talked to all of us, remembering most of us; names etc. even though we had passed out about three years back and had been a batch of large numbers.

So the evening went on - soon when the rituals and customs had been performed, the groom also joined us. We all ate the food, which was fantastic and had a lot of choices. After dinner, when most of the guests had left, me, Junior and another girl returned to my room-mate’s place, because the guys had other plans - of revisiting the inappropriate unsavoury places they used to visit back in college; a place called Gaddopur (the spelling might be incorrect) which had(has) a Dhaba where alcohol was(is), I guess, of lower price. I’m not sure what the specialty of that place was and why these guys were so fascinated with it. Anyway, no further details about their evening are available - let it suffice that there was a lot of liquor, a lot of small stake gambling, a lot of laughter (the rolling on the floor laughing kind).

Next morning brought in a lot of sleepyheads unwilling to get up, while us, who had retuned to my room-mate’s place the earlier night, were all fresh and raring to head to the college campus, to visit old times. After trying a lot to wake them, finally six of us headed to college, out of which one guy was a friend who was not from our college (Mr. InvoCasa if you’ve read my ‘Comfortably drunk..’).

Our college campus, the boys hostels, girls hostel and staff quarters are not under a single boundary – the whole college campus and all but one boys hostel is in one campus, while staff quarters, GH, KNGH are in another. These two parts are divided by not much distance, but some local area, shops, a post office, Xerox centre, sweet shops, Maggi and omellete serving shops, and a railway track, come in the area in between. The entrance we took to the college is just next to the train line, and there, at the time, due to some drainage problem, the whole road was strewn with dirty water, we had to tiptoe through select spots, to reach without soiling our footwear. A sign of some deterioration…

Just after this entrance is one of the canteens of our college (yes our college has more than one) and that canteen had been a very favourite hangout for us. However, in our final year of college, the ownership had changed from the local guy named Ubed to Nescafe, which had been a big blow to us. Not only that, they had changed the place’s look. The canteen is not very big and previously, it had a partially wired sort of roof, the sides had plastic roofing while the central part just had a wired frame. This whole semi-covered structure as well as the empty sides was sheltered by a kind of flowering bushes which take a support and then grow around it. This miniature forest of leaves also blossomed some kind of purplish mauve-ish and pink flowers.

So, almost throughout the year, the canteen used to be covered, almost completely from outside. Especially during the hot summers, it used to be a cool haven when we returned from classes. Plastic chairs, some broken, some painted with birds’ poop, would be scattered over the place; pick any suitable (preferably non-broken, non-dirty) one, take it where you wanted to sit, and just relax. Two-three marble top tables were also there, but they were hardly used, except for sitting or supporting one’s feet on - the ultimate place of luxury, the food was good (well maybe OK but some things were really good) and Ubed allowed students credit in times of financial scarcity. Aloo paranthas, egg bhurji, with butter, bun masala, mango shake, cold coffee (both seasonal), noodles, and sometimes, very rarely, chicken rolls, all very reasonably priced.

Another advantage the place had was that any professors walking towards or back from college, on glancing towards the canteen couldn’t really see anything - neither the students nor their faces; it was like the best place to hang out if you had bunked class and the teacher knew you (although I know one guy who had sat there, bunking class after some reason of illness, and had been unfortunately seen by the same professor (the same one who remembers everyone)).

During our final year, somebody had complained something about the owner (Ubed) of the canteen, regarding what I’m not sure; that was why he had to leave. He soon opened the same canteen just outside college near the Boys hostel. Lucky guys.

Nescafe entered the scene and opened its joint in the same place, but after removing the entire history of bushes from the site. The canteen looked like a building abandoned in its initial stages of construction with no walls, almost no roof, and no colour. We never really liked the place after that.
Now as we glanced towards it, despite so many poignant memories, there was no feeling of nostalgia; it looked cold and formal, barren without the greenery around, it didn’t look comfortable at all….

Just next to the canteen is the college auditorium, MP hall. For a long time we didn’t know what that stood for (I think its Multi purpose hall). Anyway, we used to sit on the steps leading to the hall entrance for hours at end, doing nothing, sometimes playing Ludo (for which we got scolded by a professor once), watching the trains go by just outside the campus. We took some photos, and walked along - the basket ball court, the gymkhana....

The general condition of the grounds had improved, the roads looked good, all lined with white paint. One part of the ground next to the Civil department laboratory, which was previously barren and used as a short cut, had now been converted to a beautiful well maintained garden. Apart from that, no other tangible changes could be seen around. Further down, we came to the main building - I still regret that we didn’t enter, to see the lecture rooms (known as GS rooms) amongst other places. Actually, well, everybody else had other things to do, and I guess nobody else felt the college nostalgia as much as I did.

We then reached the second canteen of our campus; this one was known as Panditji’s canteen because a very cheerful old man runs it, and he’s called Panditji by one and all. He used to know us by face, and always greeted us smilingly (this canteen was where we went when we had an off between classes or we had a break during class; so a lot of time was idled here). Unfortunately, he wasn’t there that day.

This canteen is situated in a small clearing in the side of forest like wilderness which was not that dense, but wilderness nevertheless. The canteen consisted of just one small circular room surrounded by a circular boundary where chairs could be placed and people could sit, on the chairs or perched on the boundary railing which was of just the right height. That was it, the sum total of infrastructure; there was nothing else. Mostly, people preferred sitting with chairs outside the small building (if you could call it one), among the trees etc. which were less dense near the canteen. It used to feel so comfortable during all times. In summer, one could place their chair in the shade outside or one could sit inside the shaded boundary; because of the trees, one could count on the cool breezes to float around. In winter, one could place their in the little pockets of sunlight between the shades. The food was also, as usual, good (I guess when you live in a hostel, all food except mess food tastes good) - aloo paranthas, maggi, bread pakoda, tea, coffee, cold drinks…

In present day, i.e. when we went, a building was being constructed on one side of the canteen, thus clearing out most of the trees in that direction. Although it was development an hence good for the college, the building marred the charm of the place.

We sat there for a long time, ordering one eatable after the other; some more friends joined us a little later. Some juniors (now final years) also came around; supposedly they recognized us, but I’m sure we were all vague recollections and none of them remembered names, which was but natural. Just sitting there, temporarily without a care in the world, watching the world speed by, even though it was just for some hours, it felt great. Simple things, like eating plates and plates of the different food being served, the coldness of the winter afternoon, the tranquil sounds of the flora and fauna around, magnified to invaluable pleasures.

It was after two hours before we headed back; the groom had his ‘Haldi’ ceremony and had called us. As we walked back towards the same entrance through a different path, we came across the almost completed Computer Science & Engineering department building which had been in its initial stages when we were studying. Junior said nobody wanted to come here; it was situated at one corner of the campus and looked to be boring and isolated. We were glad we hadn’t had to come to this cornered place for classes. Because our present department was a small wing in the main building, we had classes scattered all across campus - sometimes in the Lecture hall complex, which was a separate building near the Panditji’s canteen, while sometimes in the GS rooms, which were in the main building. So we had a lot of time to stroll around the campus while commuting to subsequent classes. We always had an excuse to be late; sometimes we even used that time to have a quick cold drink in Panditji’s canteen, even though the next lecture had already started.

That was the end of my revisiting old moments – an untimely end forced by lack of company, or, lets say, lack of interested company. Now, when I look back, I rue over the several places that I had missed - Naini bridge, Softy corner, Civil lines, Ganapati Café, Destination, the cold coffee and Pav Bhajji place in Katra…
Well no point thinking about what couldn’t be helped.

We attended the Haldi ceremony for some time. Since the function was a total family ceremony, with some members smearing turmeric on the groom, we left soon. I returned to the GH, not wanting to venture into the hostel where all I’d feel was a sense of not belonging. The rest had other places to go to and the others who had gone to the Students’ canteen had not returned yet. Thus, for some time, I was alone.

An unfamiliar sense of solitude enveloped me; I can’t say I welcomed it - after all I was feeling alone in a place that had almost never let me feel so, what with so many friends around all the time. It was a rather unexpected part of the trip that I hadn’t been prepared for and didn’t really fancy.

Anyway, that evening was the wedding. Well, won’t go into much detail about that, except that it was loud, noisy, and a lot of fun. No other groom in history would have looked as happy as our groom, a grinning smile permanent on his face. He even danced in his own baraat, and later with his fiancée at the marriage hall, before the marriage ceremonies. A special event was the dinner, where a long table was set for all the friends and the bride and groom. We all sat and were served with way too many food items, while the bride and groom fed each other, except, in this case, the groom was happily eating multiple spoonfuls himself without forwarded any to his wife. On being reprimanded by us to give her something too, he did feed her - she smiled, ate the spoonful, and then she fed him something too. They looked so wonderful together; it was an auspicious and joyous occasion.

The next morning, because of the late night, most of us just slept and slept. Then, in the afternoon, we went to the groom’s place and had lunch. We sat there for quite some, waiting for our married friend to return from the temple he had gone to. He came and soon he had to leave again, this time, to meet his in-laws and finally bring his bride home. We returned back to GH. Nobody was in the mood to do anything and so the entire evening was spent there; some slept, some went somewhere or the other, while most of just sat around, talking and lazing. I don’t actually remember how we spent time, just that we packed and again went to the groom’s house to meet the newly married couple and say our farewells to them (temporary because the couple were returning to Bangalore in a week’s time) and his family too.

After dinner, I don’t know how, we managed to be late; some miscommunication regarding the train’s arrival time. We ended up leaving in a big hurry barely twenty minutes before the arrival of the train, almost leaving a suitcase behind (mine, I might add).

The trip had ended; I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Mine was a rather different story than what I had anticipated it would turn out to be - some moments were magical, some moments unimaginably depressing, some memories have been blurred by this trip, while some refreshed. Perhaps, for me something had been missing in the trip. That is why I am in the state of mind, where, if anyone asks me about the trip, I hesitate a split second before saying ‘good’ because it’s not entirely the truth.

People do a lot for their alma mater, I haven’t, till date, and probably never will, because I’m not the active sort of person. But, as a very personal tribute this is all I have to say about:

The college I hated at first..
The college that taught me so much more than Computer Science & Engineering,
The college that gave me so many invaluable friends,
It’s the place that will remain in my heart as the place where, every moment of the time spent, defined me.

..Meandering Thoughts

It’s been a while since I wrote something; something that I wanted to share, express....
And its been bothering me…to the point where I’ve been driven to write about not being able to write something.

Now what should I write?
Why should this bother me that I’m not writing anything? After all its not like I’m going to lose anything by not writing, its not like my writing is helping anyone in any way. Then why is there a subconscious restlessness within me in times of idleness?

Now that I’ve expressed my restlessness, I wonder how I should continue. I am writing all this, sitting at my office cubicle, happily oblivious to all that is going on around. Someone is playing some Hindi songs a few cubicles beyond – a team member, one of the few north Indian members of this team. Next to my cubicle, 3 team members are discussing their Andamans trip on which they are embarking today, little scraps of conversation are floating around, some other team members might be working intensely, staring at their screens. Our boss’s place is away from the rest of us, so things are slightly relaxed; our boss’s boss is not in his place, so its kind of comfortable (not that he questions anything. Though, I think he observes)

We’ve just come back from a birthday treat and everyone is a tad lazy, the stupor after over-eating makes one sluggish. The mood is holiday-ish, what with Christmas in a few days, and a lot of people taking extended leave in the coming week. Yesterday there was a Christmas celebration in our team. Every year we have it, all organized by the 3-4 Christian members of our team. One feels so warm; I guess that’s the spirit of Christmas. Besides the standard eatables i.e. cake, chips and drinks (soft), we had a treasure hunt game where all of us joined with zest. Our team is seated in a floor where most of the other people are freshers (on bench) and another solemn looking team. It was really fun; when we got the first set of clues, all of us (including boss) started running around in excitement, creating hue and cry. The rest of the floor was bewildered probably thinking that the team had gone mad.

I’ve been in this team for 2 years now - yes it was December last to last year when I joined and I’m surprised I’m still here. When I had joined, how I had been, and now, how I am, when I look back… a lot of things have changed, in me and in the team I am in. Some people left, new people joined, and some people have persisted. Locations have changed, so have entities, takeovers have occurred, promotions have happened, names have changed, and still the feeling of constancy exists. I guess this team’s specialty is that feeling, of permanence. Things look to be changing, for the better or for worse and yet ultimately they don’t really… either way.

When I joined, along with three others, none of us were really happy, it being a Quality Assurance (QA - refined term for testing) project and being located in an office far away from where the rest of our peers (of our batch in our office) were. I was mainly unhappy because of leaving the friends behind; life had finally started to catch up. Career, profession, future were the words to think about. QA seriously wasn't a matter to be worried about; since I was never really inclined towards coding as such, that wouldn’t be a problem. Anyway at that time, I had had other plans; management. MBA, CAT, IIMs after a year or so of experience. What I did for that year, so long it was OK, I was OK. Long back I’d realized that I never really had a turn for technology - why at all I had graduated in engineering, was sometimes beyond comprehension. Lack of courage, laziness and probably lack of talent were the mains reasons I suppose. Hard to accept but true. Anyway, as usual, I’m wavering away from the point.

So we were not happy. Three others from an earlier batch had joined the same team about a month before us, and they were like kindred souls when we reached there. They felt the same way as us, not liking the place. Everyone else and everything else felt unfamiliar and cold. (I think a brief explanation is required: the company that hired us as employees had acquired the software part of another company; we had been sent to become a part of a team in this acquired company, which thought already bought, still not merged completely, hence located elsewhere). Now, in retrospect, I realize why we felt that way; the acquired company had been a small company, and they worked in close harmony, almost like a family. Everyone knew each other, everyone's family was always part of all big occasions, hence everyone was very closely acquainted with everyone else - a far call from the distant relationships one shares in big organizations. So, when we joined, we were basically outsiders (guests if you rather), the feeling was inevitable.

The seven of us complained a lot, lamenting our luck, all the while enjoying the free fresh lunches (unlimited too) in the cafeteria there (yes the lunch was free for us as we were not in the payroll of that acquired company), waiting for the time we could return to more familiar surroundings. I feel, because we were so hung up on our original office that we never gave that office a chance. Also, most of us hardly ever interacted with the rest of the team, the reason being that most of us (of the seven) had no real work, and without work, it's a little difficult to get involved in a team. That's why we remained outsiders for the better part of the time we were there in that office.

After a Team building session, things lightened up a little but it was still far from comfortable. The team members were (are) mostly from down south, prominently Tamil; they converse in Tamil most of the time, which was another point in increasing the gap. Additionally, the seven of us would have lunch/tea/coffee all together, separate from the other pre-defined groups of the team, so the chances of interaction diminished even more so.

Things would have remained the same, had it not been for the shift of location. Finally the acquired company employees had to shift to our company premises, as a start to the final merging of its entity with its acquirer. At that time, all the other people in our team felt the same as we had done before (when we'd gone to their location); lost, unfamiliar surroundings, new policies, new practices, new events. Now it was our turn to explain stuff, stuff that we were familiar with, which were new to them. I think that brought us a little closer to the team. All this while I have been saying 'us' because till that time, all of us seven (who had gone there) were still in the same team. There had been no opportunity or time for an ‘I’ in those times. However, after we shifted, that changed. How? Well…

One of us left the team, for another team in the same company,
In a few months, another left the company for better career opportunities,
Our lunches started taking less time….a sense of restlessness had entered most of the seven of us…
Another stopped spending time at his seat,
Another left to another team,
The 3rd last to leave left after about a year,
The 2nd last left a few months ago; she wasn't really looking for a job change but present stringent opportunities in our team forced her to leave.

Fortunately, when just three of us were remaining, our involvement in the team increased, through work. When we started getting proper work, obviously we needed to work with the team to complete reports etc. And I had realized that the best way to reduce accountability was to confirm everything from seniors and ask each time I had a doubt. Any help regarding work, I asked. Perhaps that was the reason my communication with the team increased. I asked about everything, I confirmed everything. So that if at all something would go wrong. I would have someone to fall back on; s/he had confirmed that this was the way to do it.

I realize how cowardly I was, or maybe still am. Perhaps, now it is a little less.

Anyway, slowly, I started talking to the rest of the team. Initially it was a little tough, because almost everyone else in the team is Tamilian; they would usually converse/chat/joke in Tamil. I made a point to interrupt each time they started talking in Tamil. Each time, they would translate or they would revert to talking in English. Gradually, with time, whenever they saw my blank face, they immediately started talking in English.

Now, when I look back, I cant recall exactly how that team metamorphosed from the rigid cold team it was (may be my perception was that way because I didn’t interact and neither did anyone else interact with me) to the warm group it is now…

Maybe when we shifted to a new floor, where we were the only team and the rest were all freshers. That time, the seating was made in such a manner that everyone (of the team) was nearby. So people interacted either sitting at their desk or standing at their cubicle, and turning around.

I as usual, for every little doubt, asked my colleague sitting next to me and he, patient as he is, answered all my doubts, and still does. Three of us, sitting in the same cubicle (of four desks) somehow talked more. We became friendly, shared several stories, thoughts and perceptions, we still do. They noticed I kept on typing sometimes for hours at end, my headphones secured to my ears, not looking here and there. For the first time, I shared my blog with someone from my team. It was nice to hear appreciation. It always is.:)

Changes have occurred: Our team leader became PM (Program/Project Manager), our SPM (Senior Program/Project Manager) resigned, but luckily, the new SPM was also from the same acquired company and everyone was familiar with him. He turned out to be more approachable, more actively involved; he still is. Initially he used to sit in another floor (as he was handling two other projects). Now, he's shifted to our floor. And his cabin door is almost always open, literally. One can walk in at any time and voice out his/her concerns.

Last year our team started celebrating birthdays; going out, combined treats, pooling in, gifts, the works. After one year of this, now, it’s been decided that rather than spending the money on lunches and gifts, we would collect it and give it to charity; a thoughtful initiative, which I really appreciate. Although I’m sympathetic, I never got around to doing anything meaningful for the ones less privileged.

As I write all this, I realize that this team has changed and it has changed me in the process. I have learnt to interact, work as a team member - but these are professional changes. As a person, I have learnt to not take things at face value. You see a group of people, all involved together, you may be somewhat biased against them. You need to give everyone a chance, you might like them too. A friendly colleague has also shown me a new way of looking at things. Initially I used to wonder how all these seemingly technical people were remaining in the same monotonous line of QA, where the work wasn't usually very challenging or different, especially when the team didn't seem to have many opportunities.

When I had gotten around to talking to some of them, I asked them; one of them said, for him, mostly it was a comfort zone. One got into a line of work, got familiar and basically got comfortable with it and hence thought a million times before exchanging the familiarity for something different, something unknown, something challenging. It was not a problem if the challenges were posed in the current job/position, but to make an effort to shift into the unknown out of the comfort zone - that posed a problem and they never got around to doing it. That was dangerous they knew, but they supposed it was going to be really tough to change things - Understandable.

However, my other colleague, who I constantly keep pestering regarding all my doubts, gave me an alternative explanation. By the way, this colleague of mind has gradually become an understanding soul; well I can’t describe it, he’s not what I would call a friend, because we never get personal as friends do. However we get along, and somehow he understands my thought processes. Let’s define him as an understanding friendly soul. Well, what he said was that, for him, work was not the end; it was just the means to an end. The end could be undefined now, but it was definitely not the work he was doing right now, i.e. this technical line.
He said, the time spent in office, doing the work we are, without much stress or workload spares us so much time at hand…to do all the things we want to do; learn new things, travel (unlike many other teams, there is no concept of working on weekends in our team, so weekends are very much your own. Along with a day or two at either end, one can very well travel to places around Bangalore), express, or like me, write. That was why he was persisting working here. Yes it is true to love the work you do, but what if you don't? Do you quit even though it gives you a lot of comfort, perks and free time. Yes maybe that is the challenging way to go – quit and find your way.
However, to give up all the comfort that an IT job gives you to waver in a different direction, unknown as yet… that requires a lot of conviction and courage in yourself, as well as passion for the alternative way.

I would be lying if I didn't accept that I don't have that much conviction. More so because, I haven't found the end yet, for which this work is a mean. I realize I don't have overwhelming passion for anything; passion that would awaken in me the guts to break from this trodden path. My colleague says, you have to search within to find that end - think, untiringly until you find your true way. I have searched, somewhat half heartedly, but haven’t really found the answer yet. Maybe some day, it will dawn on me. Until then, well, I’m here. Working, writing, enjoying… I don't hate my job… I can't blame the job.

Anyway to summarize my point (‘useless’ you say? Or laugh at the word ‘summarize’?), I realize I have also become that way, accepting the work here, and yet somewhere, my mind is searching, restless in its endeavour, trying to find the passion..

Coming back from my meandering thoughts…

A few people in the team are now kind of my friends (I say ‘kind of’ because again, we never really get personal), we share our stories, of things that have struck us, some past incidents that made an impression. Without getting into too much personal stuff, we have so much to talk about. Sometimes, a few of us start discussing something, and someone else comments, and soon there is a full blown discussion (non-technical always), many members standing in their places and our SPM, opening the door of his cubicle, and emerging out, as if not wanting to miss out any fun. In fact nowadays he doesn't even close his cubicle door. Leaves it all open; open to discussion, open to suggestions…

Now since I’m writing this piece in a space of about a month, things have changed a little, so lets forward to now, i.e. the ‘now’ when I’m writing this part of this post.

Today is Pongal also known as Sankranti, also known as Makar Sankranti also known as Bihu; same day, same occasion (of the season of harvest), and yet different names in different parts of the country.

And for our team (Tamilian mostly), Pongal is one of the big festivals. So, as usual, a proactive member of the team had the idea of bringing in lungis or dhotis (a length of cloth draped by men, traditionally in the south, I’m not too sure..). Three or four people, including the SPM, draped themselves in the garment and remained clad in traditional garb the entire day. Three people brought in the sweet dish ‘Pongal’ for the entire team, one intellectual innovator collected all information about the festival and forwarded it to the team. When I reached office, about 10:30AM, almost the whole team (i.e. the members who had not taken leave) was standing in a cluster of cubicles. I glanced at them, surprised and rather curious and saw the containers containing home cooked Pongal – delicious, sweet and dripping with ghee. What made me feel a glow of gladness was that with a team of twenty-five members, people still brought in eatables for the entire team; happy to share… happy to celebrate together.
Besides my sub-team who had a report to submit, no one seemed to have much work. Good for them, since no one was in a mood to work, and nobody was, including my sub- team. Some sat at their cubicles, while our SPM, PM and some team members sat in a circle within a cubicle, chit-chatting – generally, about stuff, half the time in Tamil, half the time in English. All seemed so relaxed…

Who I was most surprised to see in the carefree mood was our SPM, because, although he always comes and participates in all conversations, he never loiters around, like our PM. Its not his fault really; he sits in a cubicle which is slightly far away from the rest of the team and hence, gets bored, and so comes to the entire team’s cubicles which are all close by, and chats with almost everyone. However, today, it was more our SPM who was restless, not going into his cabin for more than fifteen to twenty minutes, before coming out again, with some conversation in mind.

So these people were all sitting in an open for all discussion about nothing in particular. Then some guys broke the tête-à-tête to go to the cafeteria for a cup of tea and what came into the mind of the PM, but to call the entire team for a group tea. Haha…doesn’t make sense right? Well, he was generally calling everyone with ‘lets all go for tea… lets call in team tea etc. etc’. Thus, we all went up. Some took tea, some didn’t. It was about noon - time for lunch; preparations were going on but our celebrating team had come for tea. Silly really; there was no one else there except the staff. We all sat in a circle, again, chitchatting, again – nothing special or huge, and yet nothing more unusual and memorable.

So that is the story of my team and its evolution, from its fledgling state of unknowns to a coordinated set of people, very much aware of each person’s personality; where all work and fun was choreographed into seemingly effortless harmony, where work was the priority but all other parameters too mattered.

Anyway maybe I’m getting a little too caught up in the team’s dynamics. It is not all that rosy. Professionally, the team has minimum growth opportunities, with no scope in the near future for improvement (since I’ve made up my mind to stay, that doesn’t really affect me), there are a lot of negative undercurrents in the team – between team members, between team and PM, etcetera, politics of leadership, unwillingness to accept faults, non-acceptance of responsibility; all of these pebbles create more than occasional ripples in the peaceful placidity of the team.

On a personal level, as of now, sometimes I start to hate the way the team members tease around, especially me. The history is, when our team had become very friendly, initially I’d also joined in with gusto - talking, opining, and the perception that had been created of me had been…well… I guess that of a young graduate, new to work, cool-minded, who was (is) outgoing, opinionated, somewhat talented (I think so), but mostly a girl who wasn’t very sensitive to small jokes. I.e. she wasn’t one of those girls who minded getting teased and got angry very easily. All this is mostly true, but what resulted from that perception is that everyone started teasing me… endlessly.
I was the chief target; I guess because the only other girl of my batch was a quiet kind, who would take umbrage if some teasing comment was told to her, and would reply back. However, myself, due to my permanent dislike of confrontation, I never did that, and they took that as not minding, and so it continued. After some time, I realized I was getting upset, although I was not expressing it to anyone, and that was affecting me. I decided to cut down on interaction and I consciously did, in a way which wouldn’t make people think that some tragedy had occurred, just that I wasn’t talking much. Slowly the teasing reduced.
However, that was some months ago. As of now, it has started all over again, and I’m not happy. Despite the good team camaraderie, this cloud in my mind mars my positive outlook. And frankly I don’t know how to handle it. Guess this post has unintentionally and unexpectedly turned into my personalized list of grievances.

Anyway before this post becomes another lengthy treatise about me, myself and my team, I’ll just stop here. Just to be clear, despite all the annoyance, I’m glad I’m still here, because being in this easy-going team allows me to have several comforts, which I wouldn’t have been able to afford anywhere else…; the tangible ones being, coming late (2PM), leaving early (2PM) if required, just so long as the work assigned is done or assigned to someone else.:)

After reading the entire piece, I’ve realized that the basic reason why I was writing this, i.e. because I wasn’t writing anything else, did bring out some thoughts; some thoughts that I would have liked to share, along with thoughts that I never would have shared. But then, since I have penned them down, I might as well post it. I guess such unexpected things happen when you start some journey without knowing the destination.

Comfortably Drunk..

As we entered, one was instantly in a different world, indifferent to the rest of the world, of chaos, traffic, crowds. The lighting was a combination of blue dim lights as well as bulbs. Initially, one can’t really see anything else, except the assorted couches, tables and seats…

The atmosphere was….. well, cloudy, mostly because of the ‘n’ number of lighted cigarettes all around. I, a non-smoker instantly felt the strong sense of smoke and non-existent fresh air…
Wondering where I was? Well first time in a pub, in the two and a half years of residence in Bangalore (unless one counts the one hour I spent with friends at ‘Spinn’ before rushing home, about one and a half years back). I was at Legends of Rock, 80ft Road, Koramangala, sitting with a group of friends, all there to celebrate a birthday. It was just about 7:30 pm on a Sunday evening, and the place was hardly full - not empty; a few tables/seats occupied here and there…and some loners sitting at the bar’s table (I don’t think that’s what they call that), on elevated stools.

My friends had been there before, and supposedly the music was great here. For me, who has a somewhat a limited knowledge of English rock, that supposed fact didn’t really make a difference.
At the start of the evening, there were eight of us, out of which two (including myself) didn’t drink, while the others could gut down gallons if the occasion arose. One lady left very shortly, so basically ninety percent of the time there were seven of us. We (again, for all subsequent reading, ‘we’ basically means myself and my teetotaler friend) didn’t mind, so long as our mocktails were being served, along with starters of course. While all of this was being ordered, along with the expected list of alcoholic beverages, I looked around trying to understand what was so great about pubs that they were so popular…

Well, this particular pub was dedicated to Rock, as of course the name suggests. There was an electric guitar (figuratively), hung on the wall where the bar was, i.e. a guitar shaped frame with electric lights was pinned to the wall, there were several large size photographs of rock-stars on several walls, some posters of upcoming live shows in the same place and small fancy bulbs hung over the bar table. And as I said before, there were also several inconspicuously placed blue lights. Since there were virtually no other lights except these and the bulbs, the scene was kind of dark, dimly lit, as if not wanting to disturb the visitors. There were also two large size flat screen TVs – one on the wall next to the guitar, and another on wall next to the door, such that on entering the place, you are facing the bar with one TV, and there’s another on your left. Initially, they were not turned on, and only music was playing.

Except for a very few songs being played, most were unknown. Some songs I did know (selected songs of Metallica, Eagles, Nirvana, etc. etc.), that too mostly courtesy my brother, one of whose sudden passions would be to make me listen to some songs, convinced that I’d like them and most of the time, I did. The rest were all a cacophony of voices, guitars, and drums. However, one thing I’ve realized, one can get used to rock music; you listen to the songs a number of times, you automatically start liking them. It doesn’t matter that the voice of the singer sounds like he has a throat rash, and that he’s got no clue what he’s screaming. There’s something different in that genre of music.
And so, although the songs were all loud as hell with meaningless (to me) lyrics, the tiny thread of melody caught a hold of me and the rhythm finally got to me. With time, I also nodded my head, my feet start thumping slightly with the beats and I started liking the feel of the music…my mind became thoughtless, except for the music.

The people sitting around, all had some kind of liquor placed in front of them, but it didn’t seem that that was the only reason they were there; they seemed to be there for the music too. There were two groups (if you could call two people a group - I called them so just so I didn’t have to call them a couple. Well, they were guys and they COULD have been a couple, but well, 99 % chances are they weren’t; they were maybe just two friends out to have a good time) sitting nearby us. In one of the groups, the two were really enjoying the music; they were almost swaying with the beats, every now and then lighting a cigarette, and sipping the stuff in front of them… sometimes saying a word or two to each other.
As for the other group, well as far as we had observed, they hadn’t spoken a word to each other; they merely sat there, listening to the music, smoking (yes I think almost everyone there was a human chimney) and occasionally singing. They all looked to have come just to relax. I have no idea how much they imbibed, but they sure looked relaxed and comfortable and they didn’t seem to be going anywhere, (throughout the time we were there (some 3-4 hours), the place did fill up, but hardly anybody seemed to be leaving. The place seemed like a sponge, absorbing people into it, without letting them out…

When we had come into the place, we were not really sure as to how we’d spend our time there, seeing as we didn’t drink, and not really fond of rock music, and there basically wasn’t anything else to do. We were just friendly bystanders to a drinking lot. And of course how much could you have of ‘Safe sex in the beach’ (Haha that’s a mocktail), lime juice and chicken tikka. But as it turned out, we had a very entertaining evening, all thanks to our dear frends with whom we’d come and way too much beer on the table…

As we sat there, listening to music, and waiting for the food/liquids to come, we continued with our chitchat (I say continue because with us, there’s no stop to talk, only pauses). Our friends were alcohol-lovers all the way from college, so several embarrassing/revolting moments came up. We had several occasions to see them drunk but this was the first time we were actually there to witness the entire process and it was one funny ride. Some of their antics were comically stupid…. And I think I need to elaborate on those…

Because of the risk of getting sued, I’m not naming names, but since we need some pseudonym for each, here’s a brief description of the characters of this real-life comedy..:

Out of the seven of us, one was kind of an outsider as in he was a junior from college - lets call him Junior. We knew (know) him, but not that well. (All grammar tenses are going haywire). He’d just come to Bangalore and believes weekends are all for partying and of course drinking. He knows almost all of us…

Another guy – well he WAS an outsider, until he entered our lives and the residence of #232 (privileged information) about a year ago. Cousin of a common friend, he got a ready-to-serve friend’s circle when he joined his company in Bangalore; kind of cute, nobody gets enough of pulling his leg – whether it is because of the ‘n’ girls he talks to on Orkut/phone, or the seniors he keeps on visiting, or the one girl he believes himself to be in love with. We all love teasing him… and most times, he’ll seriously explain why this girl calls and that girl gets irritated if he doesn’t call her everyday. We have a great time around him - lets call him the Involuntary Casanova --- Mr. InvoCasa.

Mr. Bottom’s Up – well the name itself is self descriptive, and on which there will be more later. Besides that, well, I used to think him taciturn back in college; we hadn’t had much interaction back then. Now when I meet him, he’s much more talkative. He’s the one who makes the most fun of Mr. InvoCasa and yet advises him sensibly regarding some issues. We both have somewhat similar tastes in music, and share (I feel) a common feeling of being dispassionate.

We two (the two girls a.k.a the two teetotalers) are roomies as well as college mates; from the same college as the remaining three are. We’ll remain ‘we’ through this entire piece.

Another guy/classmate - he’d ordered Rum (as opposed to others who were all inclined towards ‘non-alcoholic’ beer); well what can be said about him? In the past, whenever he’s been drunk, if ever he calls in that state, well he speaks a whole lot of emotional stuff – stuff which he’d never say in his senses. Always maintains, during those times, that he’s NOT drunk…we also agree each time. Also each time, he’d repeat this sentence ‘Main acha insaan hun’ (I’m a good guy/human being (to be exact)). Let’s call him the Mr. AchaInsaan.

And lastly, the Birthday Boy – well let’s call him that only. He’s also from college, and he’d come all the way from another city up north to spend it here, with us in Bangalore. For him, that evening, almost every story started or ended with something to do with drinking. He’s got a truckload full of disgusting imagination, revolting thoughts and dirty (in the literal sense of the term) memories. (Ughhh!)

Now that the scene has been carefully described, and you almost feel that you’re sitting there with us….lets divide the time period we were there (3.5 hrs) in small pockets of easily distinguishable phases… in terms of consciousness…

1st Phase – 7:15 – 8: 15: The Preparation.
This period, I’ve already described partially; we were chitchatting. Except Junior, the rest of us were all pretty good friends, spending a whole lot of Timepass time together (except poor Birthday boy who is stuck in another city). Put us anywhere, at home, on the road, on the way to someplace, in a pub, we’d go on talking - about the past, about the present, and rarely about the future. It would never be deep routed philosophy or something inspiring... just memories; teasing, old jokes, old incidents.
After a round of photographs, the food and the beverages (or atleast the first round thereof) arrived. As we dove into the starters like we’d never eaten before, the rest of my friends prepared to start drinking their respective beverages (yes all alcohol). I say preparing because, one of them (Mr. Bottom’s Up to be precise) didn’t like the glasses in which the beer was being poured, so he asked the waiter to change them. According to him, the glasses should be proper beer mugs. The subsequent mugs on which they drank were huge; one would easily accommodate one litre in each. The guy having rum (Mr. AchaInsaan) didn’t ask for any such early changes, he just shook the glass, and kept it down, as if savouring it till the moment to drink.

When everyone was finally satisfied with their respective beverages, there was a moment of cheers, even though some had already sipped, and then began the marathon. The liquor started flowing while we continued our chitchat. As usual, some hilarious incidents came up (like how the other time one of them got drunk and what happened, etc. etc.); nobody seemed to be in a hurry, occasionally sipping, more frequently smoking. By now, I’d forgotten that exquisite feeling of fresh air. Sometimes talking, sometimes silent, listening to the songs (which were gradually progressing to louder, harder and noisier stuff), we got used to screaming and conversing with each other - such was the sound system of the place as well as the songs. As soon as a song started, someone would say, ’awesome song’ and then some bit of rock trivia would be mentioned, then some would head-bang slightly, and finally fall silent, just listening.

Then Birthday Boy ordered ‘Sheesha’ - flavoured smoke, which I was assured did not contain tobacco (or any such substance). He ordered the apple flavour; I tried inhaling deeply, but each time, I coughed up - it hurt my throat. I finally gave up. Everyone else took turns, with some inhaling with practiced grace, while others (like my teetotaler friend) coughed just like me. The ‘hukkah’, (in which the flavoured stuff was burning) was very royal in appearance - Silver exterior with a long pipe for inhaling.

In the midst of all this, we too sipped our mocktails, and had lots and lots of starters. The waiter who was serving us was so unobtrusive that when he brought the second pitcher of beer, we didn’t really notice. We had not seen anyone calling for the next round and yet the mugs were never empty. It was later that we realized that an almost imperceptible nod to the waiter by anyone present in the group meant another pitcher/peg/round. And then, the mood of the evening was decided by Mr. Bottom’s Up who uttered the most significant of the evening, ‘Aaj peeke out hone ka man hai’ (I’m in the mood to get drunk senseless). So you can guess were the evening was heading…

2nd Phase – 8:15 to 9:15: Mixed Reactions.
Well, our Birthday Boy had been drinking almost continuously; he’d become rather silent, occasionally he’d speak one or two sentences to us (mostly to myself and to Junior who were sitting on either side of him). None of realized how much he’d imbibed, until we noticed that he wasn’t really talking much. Neither was he smoking - Sheesha or cigarettes. After some time, he was completely silent; he looked sleepy – red eyes and rather drowsy. When we talked to him, he’d try his best to respond suitably, and open his eyes, then in seconds, they’d again go back to almost closed. Soon, they closed completely – he dozed off in his own party, sitting, head inclined front-wards. We all had real fun shocking him out of his drowsy existence - suddenly shaking him ‘get up get up’; he‘d wake up, look around, realize nothing had changed and go right back to sleep, all the while – not a single word; Hilarious.
Mr. AchaInsaan commented, that even back in college, sometimes Birthday Boy would be very verbose on such occasions, otherwise, oftener he’d be this way… some things don’t change. Mr. AchaInsaan had not drunk much. He seemed to be conscious of the fact that we were observing everyone, saving comments for future use; he was still at his first drink. Mr. InvoCasa was also at his first mug; he seemed to be in deep thought, also looking around in amusement – a tiny bemused smile permanently on his face, a cigarette a fixture in his fingers. All the while Mr. Bottom’s Up and Junior were busy drinking. While Junior was almost totally inactive in terms of conversation (now that his adjoining companion was in dreamland, he didn’t seem really in the mood to make small talk), Mr. Bottom’s Up seemed to remember all kinds of topics he wanted to talk about; nothing boring or fantastic, merely stuff... which could be interesting. We listened, sometimes genuinely listening and responding, sometimes, wondering why and how that particular topic had come up. But wait - just want to clarify; he wasn’t drunk (as yet), he was just talkative. It was in this historic phase that he spoke the words which became his namesake, ‘Bottom’s Up!’, holding in his hand an almost full mug of beer – Birthday Boy was out of the match, Mr. InvoCasa wasn’t interested, Mr. AchaInsaan was deeply involved in the videos playing on the TV (yes the TV got started sometime in this phase), so it was only Junior who responded, but in the negative; with folded hands as a sign of regret and apology he said, he wasn’t up to it. However, at Mr. Bottom’s Up’s behest, he did try - a defeated attempt; he paused even before halfway through his mug, while Mr. Bottom’s Up, true to his word drank up his whole mug.
More beer was on the way. As for us, well, we were really busy, listening to everybody’s stories, occasionally leaning to hear atleast excerpts of the tales so that we could conjecture the rest of it (it wasn’t possible to hear all of it – there was too much ‘music’ around), watching the videos playing, (some of them were bordering on vulgar, some morbid, while some weird..) and sipping occasionally….
Now, the music had gotten louder, if that was possible, and most of the songs were unknown, and even if they were known, the version would be different (I would have heard the unplugged hence soft version). It was truly difficult to believe that the song being played was just a different version of the same song - there were so much of additional percussion and other instruments added.
The crowd had hardly, if at all, changed; the two non-speakers were still there (I think), and so was the other couple - one was now constantly singing along. The waiters were busier, and place seemed full…

3rd Phase: 9:15- 10:30: Comfortably Settled.
This was the phase where the fun just got better. Birthday Boy was still asleep; after a lot of nudges and shakes when he could not be woken, we let him be - after all he was the Birthday Boy and if he wanted to sleep while he was drinking at his own treat, he could very well do so. The ambience was livelier… when familiar popular songs were played, almost everyone in the house sang along, some head banging, some playing air guitar, while some doing both at the same time. Mr. InvoCasa was rather quiet; now that I think of it, he had been rather quiet all evening. He would have been contemplating the ongoing problems with his current dame, all the way long distance in the faraway land seven seas apart, which had been discussed at length on and on and on, with no perceptible solution. Mr. InvoCasa was not really with us; he was lost in the obscure world of chat, internet, Orkut and Infosys… may his wishes be fulfilled.
Junior was also lost in the world of music, beer and silence - he just continuously sipped, occasionally getting up to relieve himself in the restroom, or attending a phone call outside (of course it was impossible to do so inside).
Mr. Bottom’s Up was at his loquacious best, talking about the past, the present and the future - college days, some senior who had had some issues and who had subsequently been part of a heart-to-heart discussion with Mr. Bottom’s Up, etc. etc. Although he had imbibed a lot of beer, he didn’t seem drunk, and each time his mug was full, he called out ‘Bottom’s Up’. Nobody joined him, but he sure finished his mug at one go. He also frequently went to the restroom, (each time somebody got up to go to the restroom, Mr. AchaInsaan giggled, and whispered to us as we leaned forward ‘beer peene se bahut bathroom jana padta hai..’ and some other disgusting fact about the same which is not worth mentioning here.
As soon as Mr. Bottom’s Up returned, he continued with his conversation with us because the rest of them were either too far to hear, or asleep, or disinterested. We listened, trying hard to ignore the fact that he was repeating himself pretty frequently. Then again, he’d get up for a visit to the restroom. At the late end of this phase, according to our trusted sources (Mr. InvoCasa and Mr. AchaInsaan - who were the only ones who didn’t look or talk drunk) he presumably threw up in the restroom (twice).
We had a sudden overwhelming feeling of pity for the waiters/cleaners at the pub – what a job; serve them, see them get drunk, ensure that they do, and clean up their mess, and then again get them drunk…
God forbid someone got sick within the seating area.
However, we tried to find something positive in their job – maybe they would be entertained by the endless stories, gestures, ‘nautanki’ of some of the customers when they were in the self-created world of ‘alcoholdom’. Who knows? Maybe… Maybe not.

We realized that we would be leaving soon, and we’d be hungry as soon as we left - the starters having been ingested a long time ago. So after asking everyone present, we perused the menu and ordered some sandwiches; everybody else vehemently refused, ‘no…we’re not hungry.’ But well, one should have seen how almost all of them repealed that statement and went straight ahead with the sandwiches (not that we had any problem). We had ordered one plate which had four pieces; well we managed to get a piece each I think. As I put my hand on the plate to get the second, it was seized by Mr. Bottom’s Up who didn’t realize I was about to take it. (Come to think of it, I don’t think he even realized that he was taking it). Considerate Mr. InvoCasa (its no wonder really that all the girls want to be married to him, he’s pretty sweet) asked us if we wanted the fourth remaining slice which he had in his hand. We declined, but seeing the ‘not-hungry’ appetites of all present, another plate was ordered.
It was when this second plate of sandwiches arrived that we realized that Mr. Bottom’s Up was totally and absolutely wasted - gone case, drunk, in another world. When the waiter set the plate down, opened a ketchup sachet, poured a little and left, Mr. Bottom’s Up started eating, now not talking much; he was slowly following the footsteps of Birthday Boy. When the ketchup finished, and his sandwich remained, he tried to pour some more from the almost empty sachet. Boy! His hands were shaking constantly; it was with an effort that he held up the sachet and tried to press it - he wasn’t able to even press the sachet; he had no grip. Somehow, after one whole minute of shaking it, one-two drops of ketchup very generously descended onto the plate. It wasn’t enough even for one bite, but Mr. Bottom’s Up was apparently satisfied. With one wave of his hand, he mopped the sauce with his remaining sandwich and ate it, as if that was all the ketchup he had needed. After his adventure with food was over, the arduous task of getting a tissue started. There was a tissue dispenser on the table, to his left, and there was a Special’s stand (where a piece of paper announcing the day’s special or something such is inserted on a small stand) to his right. For about 5 minutes (maybe I’m exaggerating a wee bit), he kept on taking out the Special’s sheet, assuming it to be tissue, then putting it back after realizing that it wasn’t. Then again, the whole process started. He kept at it for quite some time; I think it was only after we had realized what he was doing and had laughed our full, he became aware of his mistake and somehow pulled out a tissue and wiped his hand.

Except us nobody else had noticed; as we looked around, everyone else was in a haze. Of course Birthday Boy was still out, Junior didn’t seem to care about anything at all, except cigarettes and beer, Mr. Bottom’s Up was looking drowsy, Mr. InvoCasa still had that lingering smile on his face and a mug in front of him (he hadn’t drunk much but he was rather quiet) and Mr. AchaInsaan was on his 3rd glass (peg?) of rum, just staring at the TV, occasionally interspersing comments regarding the songs or videos or us. He looked to be sober and sensible, which was really surprising, considering his past record. Once or twice, he did ask us, ’You two must be having a blast making fun of us.‘ or ‘you must be thinking what a set of drunk friends you have..‘. We gleefully agreed.
He asked if anybody wanted anything else, preparing to ask for the bill (it was about 10:25). At that time, dear Mr. Bottom’s Up was in the restroom, relieving himself and wasn’t there, and so the bill was called for. When the bill came, and Mr. AchaInsaan took out his credit card on behalf of his buddy, Birthday Boy, Mr. Bottom’s Up decided he wanted another pitcher of beer. Looking towards Junior for agreement, (who very thoughtfully didn’t disappoint him) although how they were going to drink that was a mystery of cosmic proportions. Mr. AchaInsaan, disbelieving, and somewhat hesitating, again confirmed. ‘Yes’ came the reply. The now grinning waiter, who had a total look of disbelief and amazement on his face, (as if he was wondering where ALL that beer went and why had we ordered yet another pitcher) nodded and went to get that last pitcher.

4th Phase: 10:30 -10:45: Curtain Act, and Totally Drunk.
By now, our neighbours, the couples, had left, and had been replaced by other people who didn’t seem quite as interesting as the ones before. The place wasn’t emptying, but it was less crowded; it was time to leave.
Before the last pitcher arrived, Mr. Bottom’s Up had joined Birthday Boy in dreamland; he sat there, leaning back, but his head kept falling downwards. As his eyes closed, not even the flash of a camera could wake him. When the last mug from the last pitcher of beer (that HE ordered) was poured in front of him, he took just about a sip and then promptly went back to sleep. To help in finishing the beer, (of course it had to be finished - it was sacrilegious to just leave it there un-drunk) Mr. AchaInsaan gave himself to the cause, smoking a cigarette and asking the waiter to pour him a glass. Mr. InvoCasa had hardly drunk all evening; one of his unfinished mugs had even been finished by Mr. Bottom’s Up and obviously now too, he wasn’t interested in helping in such a charitable cause.

Unflinchingly Junior took a generous mug, he didn’t seem out of his senses; he was aware and yet he was drunk. As Junior and Mr. AchaInsaan worked hard at finishing the last remnants of beer, the bill was brought again. After a frantic search for a reasonable tip in cash for the waiter (supposedly if the tip was included into the bill of the card, that didn’t reach the correct person, and so Mr. AchaInsaan, true to his name always preferred giving cash), and retrieval of the credit card (paid very considerately by Mr. AchaInsaan as Birthday Boy didn’t seem to be in the state of signing anything), Birthday Boy was also rudely woken up from his dreams. This time when he woke, he was almost instantly wide awake; he refused the beer, and now sat straight, refreshed from his two hours of un-interrupt-able sleep (there’s no such word as un-interrupt-able, it basically means sleep that cannot and will not be interrupted even if Earth was smattered by asteroids and God himself screamed at the sleeper). He recalled his duty and asked for the bill, ‘it has been taken care of’, Mr. AchaInsaan giggled and informed him. Satisfied, Birthday Boy relaxed and laid back, now very much awake.

Finally we got up; the waiter was smiling ear to ear, Mr. Bottom’s Up had been shaken out from his drunken reverie, and informed that we were leaving. He got up, walked to the door, stumbled at several places, and started his descent to the ground floor (luckily it was just one flight of steps). As he held on to the stairs’ railing, we followed, pretty sure he’d fall. Amazingly he didn’t. As we assembled below, we decided to walk back home; our place was just 5 minutes away and most of the others didn’t seem to be in the state to drive their bikes). Mr. AchaInsaan and refreshed Birthday Boy, very chivalrously offered to accompany us back.
Hardly drunk Mr. InvoCasa escorted Mr. Bottom’s Up to the bike, an expression of worry on his face (I think the thought running paramount in his mind was what if Mr. Bottom’s Up vomited while on the bike?). Well just to keep you in the loop, Mr. Bottom’s Up did throw up, fortunately not while on the bike, but only after reaching the comfort of their home, on a chair, according to a harried Mr. InvoCasa who later called up Mr. AchaInsaan to give him the latest news.
Mr. AchaInsaan had told Mr. InvoCasa to warn Mr. Bottom’s Up that ‘usko bol dena agar vomit karega to khud saaf karega’ (tell him that if he vomits he has to clean it up himself’). I don’t have any confirmation on that happening.
Junior seemed to be in his senses; we shook hands. I just said ‘drive safe’, sincerely hoping he did, he said he hoped so too. (Again, to keep you informed, he did drive safe, fortunately.)
Our knights dropped us back home, sat for a while, socialized with our amused room-mates and then left home. They also reached safely.
And there ended the four phases of alcohol, amusement, and a lot of music.

By the end of it all, they didn’t seem very drunk (Birthday Boy was all sober while Mr. AchaInsaan would have reached the drunken stage had he had another round). During this entire comedy, we did repeatedly tell all our drinking buddies that’s they should NOT drink so much and then NOT drive. But well, who listens?

Our room-mates asked, ‘but why didn’t you drink, what did you do the whole time? You would have gotten bored.’ In the midst of unadulterated giggles, guffaws and laughter, we replied, ‘you have no idea how much fun it is to be sober when you’re with a group of drunken friends; we had a very entertaining time…’, and proceeded to give them a detailed description of the antics of our friends.

They believed, but didn’t look very convinced… maybe you aren’t too…
Ah well. You had to be there…:)

Deleted Orkut Profile - II

Change has evaded me for some unknown reason; I’m the same I was 10 years ago - no evolution, no improvement, no deterioration, no weakening. A non-descript face among millions, sometimes clamouring for attention, sometimes trying to hide in the crowd. Unable to speak out, I used to take solace in penning down my thoughts, now I simply write things I think I would like to share. My thoughts are lost somewhere in my confused mind…..they are too personal to publish online and somehow, somewhere, the concept of personal diaries has died; I no longer have the time or inclination to actually write, using pen and paper. Life has become a series of keyboard shortcuts and high speed typing, staring at a monitor for hours at end.
This is the sum total of the current life of an ex- reserved inarticulate conventional female with no guts to be different, no courage to head in a different direction, no talent to succeed anywhere else.
Yet she hopes, strives, who knows? Maybe the non-entity can finally slam the doors of convention and find it in her to do something she actually likes doing, work towards something she actually believes in, and maybe make a difference somewhere.
She knows it’s a one in a million possibility, considering how things are heading currently, and yet that single strand of possibility doesn’t let go, holding on, hoping to get a stronger hold in her conscience, somewhere in the distant, if not near, future.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The somewhat morose description below isn't always how i feel. The mood oscillates from one state to another, sometimes finding vent in penning the emotions down somewhere. What's written below is the product of my mind on a rather bleakish dark day.
Most of the times, I’m happy with life as its going...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And now, lighter shades of me....

Nobody who knows me well would call me sweet, soft spoken, sentimental, or spontaneous…
And they would be completely correct…
Almost.
I’m self conscious, superficially cool, stupidly stubborn, and scathingly sarcastic…

A tad on the crazier side of the planet; just a tad…I’ve been certified a psycho by one of the most renowned consultancy services in India. I’ve been trying to prove them wrong, but somehow, all my efforts have proved fruitless…
I’ve inadvertently developed a dislike to having inane conversations with strangers on the net…..so unless you really think we’ll get along, don’t scrap me.
And by the way, incase there’s my picture on the profile, just remember that looks are deceptive…

Passions:
Music..(The Food of my Life)…
Books ..(The Food for Thought).. I guess by now ur getting tht FOOD is also a major passion in my life :):)

Sports:
All sports are prejudiced against me..its a sad fact of life, that from day 12011, they have all been united in being biased against inactive people like me..

Activities:
Since that fateful day 24 years, when I was rendered lethargic by unknown forces of nature, which have persisted till date, I am helplessly enervated, lazy and inactive almost permanently....
Sometimes, for some temporary glorious moments, when the forces subside into hibernation ...I find the will power in me to meet up with friends, go out, read, occasionally (very) write, movies....

Books:
Friday's Child by Georgette Heyer, If Tomorrow Comes by Sidney Sheldon, Fountainhead by Ayn Rand, The Class by Erich Segal......

Music:
The recent success of Himesh Reshammiya's music has broken all previous rules regarding the importance of melody, lyrics, and voice inflections in the creation of good music. His nasal tones have indeed been an inspiration for all the millions who till now were made to believe to that their voices were not even worth bathroom singing, and who are now lining up for all those
endless talent hunt reality shows..
Since his onslaught on Indian entertainment industry, music tastes have been known to be malleable.. you hate a song the first time you hear it.... the 20th time you get used to his nasal intonations and no longer mind them... the 40th time, you unknowingly hum along... the 60th time, you sing along.... the 80th time, you like the song.. the 100th time onwards, you play the song in a loop on your media player....
Before this recent phenomenon, I was known to like old Hindi songs, soft rock, Bryan Adams, all kinds of assorted stuff....

TV shows:
Not much usually worth watching on TV.. the attention span is exponentially diving towards (-) infinity....ads seem too long..
amongst the plethora of song, dance and saas-bahu scheming, some old shows like The 70's show, Still Standing and other good sitcoms keep the faith in television entertainment still alive..
One realizes the futility of TV, when the cable connection is disconnected for over a week, and the only stuff one misses are the news channels...

The Great Indian Celebration called 'Shaadi'...

To an outsider (read foreigner), an Indian wedding is an Indian wedding – the same all over the country. To them, states are not entities; a Tamilian, a Bengali, a Gujarati or a Punjabi all are the same to them. However, for an Indian, divided by states and languages and communities, a wedding could belong to several categories: same caste, different caste, same language, different language, correspondingly same region, different region, same religion, different religion, even different nationality.

It’s a big divide, and then again there’s the divide of whether the bond is arranged or one of love (it’s just a term – doesn’t mean that arranged marriages don’t have love in them). When it’s an arranged marriage, well, the selectors of prospective bride/grooms don’t go for marriages with other castes, and NEVER different communities. Obviously, because one expects that two people belonging to similar backgrounds (read caste, religion, language) would get along much better than otherwise.

However, if recent urban trends are to be considered, love marriages and arranged marriages work hand in hand; parents are open enough to allow their progeny to choose their partners in life. And even if they aren’t, their children go for it anyway and then, more times than not, parents have no other choice except to accept the relation. And, a majority of the time, they choose people who are invariably of/from different caste/language/region/religion. Off late, I’ve seen a lot of such couples; in love, striving to make their respective parents accept their decisions. Some accept grudgingly, some don’t, until they realize they’ll lose their children. However, once they accept, they realize that its not that bad - the chosen person is actually good. After all, how much would it matter that s/he’s Punjabi and not Telegu, or Assamese and not Bengali?
And they get along just fine, if not better.

Inter-caste is not such an important factor nowadays amongst the urban, (I repeat urban, because in rural areas, even today couples are not allowed to get married, and are even murdered, if they are of different castes, leave alone religion). Several of my friends are part of/are couples who transcend states, from North India to South, from East to West, and all with relative ease.

Some years ago, in my family, we had a Punjabi bride married to my very Bengali uncle, and surprises of surprises - it was an arranged marriage, arranged by mutual friends of both the parties involved. The couple just knew each other, and that’s that. The marriage was special; although it was between a Bengali and a Punjabi, it was conducted in Guwahati (a place whose majority population is Assamese). Anyway, it was a concoction of Bengali as well as Punjabi customs, with the former dominating, maybe because it was the groom’s side (as always, the Indian psyche gives more importance to the groom’s side). However, there were customs of the Punjabi way of marriage too. The one I remember were the knots tied in a string, which had to be untied by the bride or groom… I’m not too sure…

That had been a relatively low key affair, even though cross cultural, I’d not felt the cultural differences in both parties. And since the bride’s party had come all the way from Delhi, very few people had come, and so I’d not really experienced the Punjabi flavour of the marriage.

That loss of mine was compensated very recently, when I was privileged to attend the marriage of a very dear friend in Hyderabad. Punjabi by birth, Gujarati by place of stay, he was getting married to an Andhra girl (another sweet person I got to know through him). Yes of course it was a love marriage, but luckily, both the sides (parents’) had come to a mutual agreement. And so there it was - a marriage of different India-s, languages, customs, and possibly castes (though that would hardly matter after the previous different-s).

For me, it was a trip to look forward to, going to Hyderabad, meeting the friend after four years, that too for his marriage, that too to a person of entirely different region.
I don’t know why I chose to write this post…I’m not going to describe the entire marriage am I? Well maybe I am. Only because I was so amazed by the way people came across cultures and merged into a single multi faceted ceremony; add to that a touch of foreign spice - you have your very own version of unity in diversity as well as nationality.

Hmm… to explain all that I’ve rambled about above, let me elaborate a little (a lot actually).
Well, to begin with, I had never had an idea about a north Indian wedding, let alone a Punjabi one. All I’d heard was that Punjabi ceremonies are usually rather ostentatious, with a lot of pomp and show, somewhat spectacular and flashy, involving a lot of cash flow (this I assumed after watching a lot of Hindi movies which although I knew exaggerate could be partially true). As for Andhra weddings, I had an even lesser idea about that, never having attended any south Indian weddings or watching any movie depicting atleast some part of it, unless one counts the two minute wedding part of he movie ‘Hyderabad Blues’ (which is a very nice movie by the way).

Lets begin with the pre-marriage ceremony…the Engagement also called the ‘Sagai’. No wait... I’d missed one ceremony - the Sangeet, that’s again a North Indian function, a day or two (I’m not so sure) before the marriage, where there’s a dance function, and all the ladies (again I’m not sure) dance, and sometimes even the bride, if she wants. In this case, I heard that the bride had danced with aplomb, while the groom was trying to signal her to be a little demure (or atleast act as if she was). She was not at all perturbed and supposedly danced with no shyness, and so did her father.

Anyway back to the engagement…
According to the merged set of customs, the groom’s side arranged the engagement. It was all set at a hotel far away from where we were put up to stay - a cantonment area ahead of Begumpet (where the airport is). When we (for all subsequent reading, all ‘we’s indicate people from the groom’s side) reached the place, after a long and rather picturesque ride (with the sunset glistening the waters of the Hussain Sagar lake), the place was almost empty; besides the people who had arrived in earlier cars (from the groom’s side) and others (again from the groom’s side) who had come there directly. Not a soul from the bride’s side was to be seen.

On enquiry, it was found that she was caught up in the beauty parlour and it would take some time before she could manage to reach the place. Now that in itself was something different; traditionally, brides are the ones meant to be ready before time, nervous, awaiting her knight in shining armour (of course not literally) to arrive. In this case, it was a rather uptight groom, who was waiting, at the same time, socializing with the guests; most of the time standing with a few friends of his own batch from college.

As I looked around, the decoration was really pretty; it was a simple affair of flowers, but not the conventional set of marigold. From afar, the flowers looked artificial, they were so perfect. But later, after the ceremony, we found that they were real fresh flowers. They were very tastefully decorated with medium lighting, nothing to make the people present blink while looking at the elevated dias. Initially, two throne-like bronze chairs were kept at the centre which was where the engaged couple would be sitting for quite some time, like the king and queen of the subjects sitting below. Some music was going on that was all Telegu; not a hint of Hindi. Later, at the behest of us, a few songs of Hindi and English were played.

After some time, some of the bride’s sides’ relatives came in. It was then that one realized that this was indeed a confluence of cultures, not in a bad way, but as outside appearances and manner went. Unlike the groom’s side which was comparatively livelier, maybe a little too impatient, the bride’s side entered rather tranquilly, so much so that their arrival was just a little short of inconspicuous. They came in mildly, talking softly among themselves (or so it seemed). Even the way the ladies of both the sides were dressed for the occasion was very different, even the colours. Though all the ladies from the bride’s side wore sarees and mostly all from our side too (not me), but the sarees were radically different. While their side wore heavier sarees, probably silk, Kanjeevaram etc., in our side, it was mostly chiffon and georgette, and even the colours were different; while ours were in bright shades, theirs were a little less bright, bordering on dark. Maybe those textiles come in such colours. The jewelry was visibly more of gold; our side, the jewellery was less noticeable, rather light. As for the men, there was hardly any noticeable difference. Atleast some things are universally same.

One could make out a perceptible wariness running through the air - both sides were anxious to please, and yet unfamiliar to the other side. As we looked on, the groom’s mother welcomed the bride’s and they started talking; the groom’s mom gave some sort of jewellery to the bride’s mother. They were chatting like old friends. Everyone settled down and mingled, well, not so much as mingled, maybe talked among themselves; both the sides separated. But then again that had nothing to do with culture clash; that happens at all weddings (at least Indian) - the groups hardly ever mingle initially.

Note-In-between: For all the customs and traditions that I’m describing, some might be incorrect and misleading as I never observed that closely - whatever appeared to me as a custom, I’m putting it down here. I could be wrong.

About half an hour later or so, the bride entered, all decked up in her finery looking beautiful in a completely sequined orange-yellow saree, her face glittering, more so with her constant smile. She wasn’t the conventional bride – she was (is) the modern Indian bride; not at all self conscious or shy. Charmingly, she came forward and smiled to someone, a nod here, a wave there - she was meeting almost everyone at once. As everyone looked in her direction, she was not at all put into confusion, neither was she nervous. A friend’s wife offered to walk her to the dias, she cheerfully refused, ‘that’s all right I’ll go...’ and so she went forward, meeting people on the way, a word or two here and there. In retrospect, as she sat down at the dias where the groom was already sitting, maybe the groom looked more nervous compared to her.

Then started the Punjabi ceremonies (so it seemed)… there was this tradition called Aashirwaad, where the elders blessed the couple. Several other customs would have been there, but as I was seated at the back somewhere, I really didn’t know what exactly was going on.

All I remember is photographs - a lot of them. As the bride and groom made a cultivated effort to talk to everyone present, they also had to photograph with almost all the guests. It was like they had a smile permanently on their faces; friends, relatives, cousins, kids, colleagues all wanted snaps with the couple. And even if they didn’t, courtesy indicted that the couple force them to take a shot with them; the photographer hired was busy all the time, along with the video camera guy, who was also recording off and on.

So there it was - the engagement was done, and all they had left to do was sit at the dias on their royal seat, welcoming invitees as they came to congratulate them , and then clicking a photo with them. By the end of it, they were incapable of genuine smiles; too tired to smile genuinely but yet trying their best, a tiny upward lurk of the lips, that was the thin line on their faces by the end of the evening. And then in the midst of the guests, there entered a very special couple - an Australian couple (since I don’t know their names, let’s call them Mr. and Mrs. A), who were special because of the way they became a part of the whole marriage ceremony….

Mr. A is a very famous eye surgeon who had come to Hyderabad for some seminar or something and Mrs. A had accompanied him. As they were staying for quite some time, Mrs. A decided to join some Indian cooking classes. So she asked here and there and finally stumbled upon the cooking classes that the groom’s mother taught. When she saw that the classes were temporarily suspended, she enquired why and found out the reason, i.e. her (the teacher) son’s marriage. And so she and her husband talked to the mom/groom (I’m not sure who) and requested them to invite them to the wedding. Of course they agreed, but yet they were persistent, as if disbelieving, ‘no… invite us… my wife is even ready to wash the dishes if required but we want to be in all the festivities’. (Since I heard this after several versions, I’m not sure whether these were the exact words). And of course that was not required. Anyway, that was how they became involved in the whole celebration.

And so they arrived, both looking so happy and comfortable; as they went to congratulate the couple, one elderly uncle of the groom smiled and motioned to the photographer, ‘take their photo with the family’, who happily complied. There they were – the affianced couple along with groom’s mother, and the blissfully bemused Australian couple. Displayed here was a classic example of Indian hospitality; all the members of both the sides, especially the groom and bride, made sure that Mr. and Mrs. A did not feel odd or lost at any point of time. They made sure that someone was there with them, to talk to them, explaining the various customs so as to make them comfortable. Indeed so, they looked at ease while a young cousin (probably) of the bride stood/sat conversing with them, explaining the highlights of the ongoing ceremonies.
That’s when I realized. To them, it was an Indian wedding, not Punjabi, not Andhra; they wouldn’t have even realized the cocktail of cultures they had landed themselves into. Strange how an outside perspective makes you realize how petty some of our inter divisions are.

During the ceremony, we heard some bad news. There had been some bomb-blasts in the city; one in a park by the Hussain Sagar lake and another in some other place (the name I forget). Everyone was a little worried, but no one wanted to mar the evening with sadness. Many got calls from worried friends/relatives to know if they were all right. That tragedy made the atmosphere somewhat sombre.

While we were having a late dinner, we were witness to a special dance show by the bride’s cousin. A teenager of about 13-15 years age, when the chairs had been removed and the couple had come descended from their throne, he got onto the dias, and danced away to glory - one song after other. The people sitting below also cheered him on, buoyed by the enthusiasm on his face. As he danced on and on, another girl (also from the bride’s side) also danced. But the boy was exceptional; he danced as if he didn’t care whether anyone was watching, he seemed to love it. After a lot of dancing and intermittent applause, the bride’s dad (his uncle maybe), in a gesture of appreciation, got onto the dias, sportingly danced along with him for a few seconds and then at the same time, gifted him with some cash as a blessing. The boy pocketed the money, smiled and continued dancing.

After the last guests had left, the families dispersed to their respective places. As we left, we crossed a flyover from where the area of blast was partially visible. I felt somewhat helpless, a tinge of sadness hinting to shade over the festive mood. There hovered in my mind a pinch of guilt; we were laughing and enjoying while people were coping with the tragedy of losing their near and dear ones. While a bond of love was being sealed, some bonds had been forever torn apart by the cruel act of some heartless people. It is a testament to the different ways of life that are common to Indians - Babies are born, people get killed, marriages get sanctified, riots get started, and yet, life goes on… life has to go on. Tears flow, heart-rending images prick and yet somehow memory and time gives each a respite… to forget and to heal.

That’s how we also somehow put the thoughts at the back of our consciousness, to ignore, to forget.
Let me get past the guilt and continue with the wedding saga…I know it might sound callous, but then, as I said, life does go on.

After reaching the temporary residence at the cantonment, after a while of chitchat, discussing this and that, that saree and that lady, that food and this dessert etc., as is common after every major event, people retired to their respective rooms. Atleast I did.
It was already pretty late and the next day i.e. the marriage day was going to be a rather early, long and eventful day…

It had been decided that the marriage ceremony in itself would be conducted in the Andhra way – i.e. their customs, but of course the classic north Indian baraat (groom’s bridal party) would be a forerunner to the wedding..

The next morning started early for the main people involved, and consequently for all the people present in the residence, including me. After a sumptuous family breakfast (just so because we had become somewhat like a family, as all were present there for a common cause). I, along with another friend, headed out to meet a college friend. We left with some other members who had to go to the bride’s place for some ‘Shagun’ I guess, where they would be giving (or getting?) some ritualistic articles to (or from?) the bride’s side.

When we came back, I was a little disappointed to know that I’d missed the Haldi ceremony. Atleast that was a ceremony I was familiar with, i.e. the same happened in Bengali marriages too. At both the sides, the prospective groom and bride were made to sit docilely, while they were smeared all over with turmeric (haldi) paste… and they could not object. Sometimes, while this happened, others smeared others and it would eventually turn out to be a small Holi.

So anyway when we returned, we were greeted with a yellow groom, all the haldi dried up on him, except his face, which he had washed. He looked busy; on the phone, doing this, doing that. Supposedly, there was some custom, where the water to wash off the haldi should come from the bride’s place (obviously just a nominal amount), but that had not arrived, and so the groom was all covered in yellow paste, waiting for the water.

The baraat was to leave the place at about five thirty or so, after some ceremony, but till four, the groom was roaming around, not even close to ready. Luckily, then the water finally arrived, and whatever ritual was to be performed, was performed. I have no clue, because I was busy freshening up. Amazingly, the groom took about ten-fifteen minutes to get ready for the most important day in his adult life; handsome and charming in his brownish golden sherwani, complete with a stoll. As soon as he was done with his toilette, he hurried up the rest of the people to get dressed, helping out with the kids, and smiling all the time.

Finally, we were all ready almost in time (yes I did take time seeing that I had chosen to wear a saree). Mr. and Mrs. A had also arrived in an auto, after frantic searching of the area for the place. Mrs. A, resplendent in a magenta salwar kameez, greeted the groom and his mom; while Mr. A was all dapper in his complete suit. As they talked to the people around, she glanced at myself and another girl (who was newly married), both trying hard to handle the sarees, and came forward, asking if we could help her wear her saree. She had actually bought a saree, but since she didn’t know how to wear it, she’d brought it along with her, hoping that someone would help her into it. We said, we’d try but maybe someone else would be better, because we were also novices in the art. As she stood with us, her husband, her husband called out to pose, his camera in hand; they were both so enthusiastic, ready to capture every moment.

After some customs (again, I have no clue what exactly), where a pandit chanted some mantras, and also some story from ancient Hindu mythology, I’m unable to recall which exactly, and blessing from all the elders present, we all left for the marriage hall. The baraat left in six-seven cars; I was privileged to be in the car along with the nervous (somewhat) groom, his mom and some friends. I’d never been part of a north Indian baraat before, and so I was rather curious as to how things were going to follow.

What happens in a baraat in our (Bengali) weddings is: After some blessing etc. at the groom’s place, everyone sits in the respective cars, reach the bride’s place/marriage hall, where they get welcomed and then starts the fun. There’s a custom of blocking the gate (usually done by the brides’ sisters, cousins and smaller kids etc. during the welcome), called. ‘Gate Dhora’; either the groom’s cronies have to force a way in through the barricade of people, so that the groom can follow respectably (of course he can’t be involved in the forcing) or he has to pay the blockers money to get in. Usually, the groom pays (after all he gets married that day - he can’t be cheap and not pay). Then, the groom, along with the other baratis is seated at a stage/hall/rooms/ which is all decorated and comfortably arranged. Last time I attended a wedding (a long time ago) from the groom’s side, the arrangement was done in the traditional Bengali way, with cushions and mattresses placed in a semicircle, with sufficient space for all the people. With the groom sitting in the centre, aromatic incense burning next to him, flowers set in front him, now, when I look back, it appears to border on the funnier side. But that time, I believe it was the norm. Generally, refreshments would then be served, or the people would be escorted to the pandal (temporary constructed eating place) where they could partake refreshments. Then, if I recall correctly, the groom would be re-dressed in the clothes given by the bride’s side, and then the wait would begin until the auspicious moment of marriage. Either I had attended mellow weddings, or all Bengali weddings are mostly mellow in comparison to the north (atleast in terms of baraat). True, there are a lot of light moments, games, and it’s a week long festival, but there’s not much of song and dance except the traditional shehnai, which has of late been converted to live bands (the uniformed kind who play loud popular songs) or Hindi film songs, but it’s not even in the vicinity of being as lively or loud as a North Indian wedding (that’s what I realized after being part of this wedding).

As I was to find out, in true Punjabi style, the baraat halted at a place about a kilometre away from the marriage hall, and got out of the cars. I realized that the groom would be reaching his wedding astride a horse that was standing there, all decorated, along with its caretaker (that’s not the exact word, but that’s the nearest I could get). A uniformed band was also present, with some bright lights on top of some kind of vehicle, which was to travel along with the baraat. After all the cars had arrived, the groom finally got onto the horse’s back, wearing the sehra (a headdress with strings of flowers hung on the top, so as to cover the whole face). The band started, the lights shone… and then there was dance. And boy! What a dance! The groom’s brother, cousins, and his friends started dancing, madly, no method, no steps, mindlessly moving their limbs, with some rhythm along with the band, which was playing some popular Hindi movie marriage songs. After a few minutes of frenzied dance with indescribable steps; random and wild movements, the baraat started moving, but not for too long. Within five minutes, again the entire party of dancers, i.e. the brother/friends/cousins started dancing yet again, this time pulling others (yes… me too) into the dance. Even the ladies danced for a while. The groom’s brother and a cousin sister even managed to teach Mr. and Mrs. A, who were initially hesitant, to dance. Then, they too, realizing that nobody really cared about the steps, danced with gusto.

The baraat was moving at a snail’s pace (obviously), with dancing going on every five minutes. We were moving on the main road, but initially there were no people or shops etc. on the sides, but as the buses and cars went by, people inside, turned and stared. After all, such a loud and colourful baraat wasn’t that common in these parts. A person in the baraat had to keep the dancers and others from going onto the middle of the road, because they (the dancers), as such were not really in their senses; once they were dancing, that’s all they seemed to be doing. All of them were drenched in sweat; such was the intensity and movement of their dance.
All the while, the groom stayed put on his horse. Frequently, he looked through the sehra, momentarily moving the strand of flowers, to look around as to what was happening; he looked so helpless, sitting on the horse, no control over anything going on around him, just waiting for it all to get over. That expression was to remain on his face for the remainder of the evening, temporarily camouflaged by smiles.

And all the while, the madness of the music and dance continued. As we neared the place (half an hour to forty-five minutes and barely a km later, that too), the frequency of stops became more, the progress diminished to miniscule steps. I was reminded strongly of the celebration of Dashami (10th day) of Durga Puja - when the idols are taken for immersion, a similar song-dance scene reigns. (I’ll not delve into that now – maybe that’s another whole new post). Here there were more people along the road, and as we progressed, they looked on, wonderment in their expressions, smiling, and if I’m not mistaken, some guys joined in, danced and then left again. We’d created such a commotion in the usually peaceful place, that everyone around was looking at us.

Finally, we reached the marriage hall. Surprisingly, there were three marriages in the same marriage hall (it was more than a hall - a four-storied building of halls, including a garden and parking space). Our marriage (sounds funny but this was the easiest way to phrase it) was on the third floor. There were separate entrances for the three marriages but the baraat was visible from all the floors. So, as we entered, with pomp and show, a lot of people looked down from the other marriages, staring; all the shine from their wedding faded into the glitz of ours. Yet more people stood in the area outside the building, just outside the entrance; probably they were all from our bride’s side - I was in no position to distinguish. Again, the penultimate round of dancing, this time some youngsters from the bride’s side also joined in and were totally encouraged by the groom’s side. Some crackers… and then the baraat had finally arrived.

As the groom waited to be brought down from his mount, his friends & cousins insisted that the groom go until the very end astride on his horse (if it was upto them, he would have entered the building on his horse). And then it was all a haze - crowds totally swaying with the band while the dancers went on and on and on. Someone (probably from the bride’s side) told the band to stop playing but somehow they also didn’t stop, caught in the madness of the dancers. After a LOT of dancing, and lot of music, when we had all mingled along with the bride’s side, the band finally stopped. The horse had reached the entrance to the building. As some young kids went to help their future relative dismount from his horse, he said something to them which was not audible to us. Then we realized that the groom had his demands; he wouldn’t dismount until the bride’s parents danced (I guess there lies the advantages of a love marriage; you are already on familiar terms with your in-laws). Everyone started clapping, the band started playing (again), and a shy mother and totally zestful father danced perfunctorily. Satisfied, the groom dismounted and the herd (better known as the baratis) entered.

Our bride’s function was arranged on the 3rd floor, just below the top floor where the food arrangement had been done. As we reached there, we were greeted with people serving some kind of liquid refreshment (water/ juice/ something else). Inside the hall, the arrangement was simplistic; chairs were arranged throughout the length of the hall while at the front there was a decorated raised dias, again with flowers. This time it was the traditional marigold flowers - all shades of orange and yellow livening up the white painted walls.

Now, I’m not sure how much later the next event happened, probably some fifteen to twenty minutes after the baraat arrived at the marriage hall. This was a north Indian custom – Jaymala – the first exchange of garlands between the groom and bride. Here also there was a lot of fun involved; what happens is that neither the groom nor the bride wants to bow down when the other is garlanding him/her. So usually they are lifted by their friends/brothers/cousins etc. so that the other had to reach higher up to garland him/her. In this case, our groom’s friends lifted him high up, nearly touching the roof of the flowered enclosure; the bride’s brothers then lifted her too, but somehow, as soon as she reached his level, they pulled him higher. The scene was hilarious; two dressed up people lifted up high, holding garlands in their hands. The resource pool on the groom’s side was more than the bride’s side and they were showing no signs of bringing him down. When both were on the verge of crossing even the roof (in terms of height), the bride’s brothers resorted to tickling the people who were holding up the groom, so as to get them to bring him down. With that, the garland exchange was finally complete, fortunately, without the couple toppling down.

After that, there wasn’t any ceremony or ritual before three (yes in the morning) when the auspicious moment (Shubh Muhurat) was. It was about nine when the Jaymala was completed. Post that, while the couple were in for another round of photo sessions, this time for a larger audience, we all went to the food area on the top floor. Here there was an assorted cuisine of both North Indian as well as South Indian ; so while there was panipuri (also known as golgappa), and chaat, there was also sambhar rice.
After some tasting here and there, we went back; the couple was still at it, greeting guests and the inevitable photos - both were looking tired.

At about eleven thirty or so, when the invited guests had eaten, and nobody was expected to come, the couple finally went to have some food, so they sat at the centre of an elongated table (arranged by joining several tables) while their friends (us included) and sisters/cousins sat with them, also having their dinner, i.e. if one could call it that at that time. Since the actual yagna (Don’t ask me the meaning of the word…I too am clueless)/rites were times at about three in the morning (night rather), we all went to the rooms allotted on the same floor, and rested there; I dozed off.

2:30AM: Knock knock knock… and we were back at the hall, where the marriage was now officially on, the Andhra way…

As the we reached there, slightly sleepy, coffees in hand; we looked to the dias to find a curtain hung there in the middle, such that no one sitting in the hall could see beyond it. And who was that sitting this side of the curtain, with his back towards us? That was the groom, facing the opaque curtain, doing what no one knew. Presumably, he would be following instructions given by the people on the other side of the curtain. Since we were all too lazy to find out, we never did know what did go on all the while. Supposedly, the curtain would lift little by little, to disclose the bride sitting on the other side. So we sat, awaiting that, chatting amongst ourselves. Someone said, ’poor guy - we all friends or someone should atleast sit there with him… he’ll be so bored, sitting facing nothing’ and then someone else commented gleefully (something to the effect that) ‘let him, after all he chose his Andhra bride - he has to follow their customs’. Nevertheless, someone must have heard the groom’s unspoken prayers (or someone must have heard the first guy) because in a few moments, some of his relatives did join him there at the dias, half of them looking at the curtain, as if in his support, while the other half looking back at the hall.

I don’t remember if the curtain went up gradually or in a single stroke, but it eventually did go up, and the cutest sight awaited us at the other side. There she was, the bride, wearing a different saree, (silk I think) in South Indian style, sitting inside a wicker basket (yes a wicker basket) facing the groom, who was still in the same position as before, just that the curtain had been raised. The bride’s mother and some other female relatives of the bride, sat beside her, while the pandit recited some mantras and performed some rituals. All the while, she sat in the basket; at the end, the pandit pasted some gur (jaggery) on the heads of both, along with some rice grains.

Then there was again a change of saree for the bride; when she came back this time, dressed in a white saree with red border, of cotton I think, she sat on the floor and not in the basket, still facing the groom. Then, their were an assorted number of games, which had some significance with marriage, things do with togetherness, caring for each other, etc. etc. As they were told to do this and that, the pundit explained the significance and analogy of the games with marriage. One such game/custom/ritual was the pouring of rice grains on each other from the same plate; whoever spilled more before the plate emptied, was supposedly the winner (of what, I have no idea). The first time the couple did it, they just did it because they were instructed to; the second time, they actually seemed to be competing with each other, picking up as much rice grain as possible in their two hands and pouring it all on the other. At the same time, a huge grin was pasted on the bride’s face (I couldn’t see the groom’s face as) – they seemed to be enjoying themselves…

One or two more similar kind of games were also conducted. Now my memory doesn’t allow me to decide whether there had been any ‘phere’ or the circling around a fire, of the couple, joined together by a cloth tying her saree’s end (pallu) to the groom’s dhoti-end/kurta. I have no clue – as far as I remember I don’t think so, but then again, I was sleepy so I could’ve missed it. Anyway by four thirty – five in the morning, the wedding was officially over. As we all returned to the rooms where we’d previously rested, we were joined by the groom in some time. We all sat chatting till dawn, somewhat sleepy, yet knowing there wasn’t much point in sleeping now; some of us were leaving by morning flights. After some time, the bride too came in; all marriage ceremonies over, both were finally free. She came in, and after sometime, promptly lied down and fell fast asleep, all the sleepless nights finally taking their toll. She was so sound asleep that all of us talking, people coming into the room, her spouse throwing a pillow at her - nothing disturbed her.

And thus they were married.

That morning, we had planned to see Hyderabad - places like the Charminar, Golkonda Fort, some movie studio, and the Hussain Sagar Lake which spread across a large part of the city, the park near it etc. were among the placed we were told were famous in Hyderabad. However, due to the blast two days earlier, there was a bandh (kind of an involuntary strike, where a small number of people declare that the whole city will remain closed in protest, whereas actually, they are the only people who want the city to remain closed) in the city, we were advised not to venture to any of these places. To kill time, (our bus back to Bangalore was in the evening), a few of us cooped up at a mall, Hyderabad Central and watched a movie ‘Hey Baby’ (don’t ever watch it - the movie begins well but then loses track as to whether its a comedy or a drama). The mall is like any other mall in Bangalore; a branch of the same mall was there in Bangalore too (Central). The only difference was maybe the food court, and the architecture of the place. Then we went to the Eat Street – it’s along one of the sides of the afore mentioned lake. It’s a beautifully arranged place; several self serving food stalls, and tables and chairs arranged along a stretch of the banks, where people could enjoy the food as well as the view of parts of the lake and city. One could see the roads at the other bank of the lake, with the cars running on them looking miniscule, so much so that they didn’t even pass for toy cars. It is a nice place; however, surprisingly, inspite of the lake there was no breeze. It was absolutely still and if one didn’t stay in the shade one came to experience the heat of Hyderabad.

After some time, we left the eating place and walked around for sometime around the lake. Whether it was because of the bandh or the time of day (afternoon bordering on evening), there were almost no people around; it was peaceful but hot. I missed Bangalore somewhat. After walking around and thoroughly tiring ourselves especially after the sleepless night, we went back to the groom’s place, where the bride had been already received. People (relatives) who had come from out of station to attend the marriage were preparing to return to their respective destinations.

When we reached, the new bride was sleeping; it seems she had fallen asleep while an elderly relative had been narrating some random history of the family (maybe). When we left, about a couple of hours later, she was still sleeping - so comfortable, very at home in the new place (after all it was a love marriage and there wasn’t the normal shyness associated with the arranged marriage bride). We didn’t have the heart to wake her.

So as we left the newly married couple, the Andhra bride, and Punjabi daughter-in-law was sleeping after a tiring and exhaustive two days, while the Punjabi groom and Andhra son-in-law was still in the midst of post-marriage duties; dropping off people leaving after the marriage.

Nothing seemed different or weird. You see, when two people decide to live the rest of their lives together, minute details like language/region move out f the way, creating a beautiful amalgamated union - the best of both worlds, and obviously the worst too. 
Though one could work at slowly phasing out those not-so-good elements of both worlds in all the subsequent happy years of togetherness…

Note: Mrs. A did wear the saree, and she looked wonderful.

Without a twist - Part II

Well, here’s the second and final part. Undoubtedly, this part lives up to the title of the story. Read on if you’re still interested.

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Nothing in the last 3 years of security experience had prepared him for this situation; Varun’s utterance of those fateful sentences left Vikram so dumbfounded that after walking for a few seconds, he stopped and stood there, agape, staring at Varun, and at the sea of faces staring back at him.
A rush of thoughts were going on at superhuman speed – this was his moment of truth, his chance at glory, his chance to show the entire staff and employers what he was capable of, this happy thought was simultaneously being marred by the unnerving realization that he really didn’t know what he was supposed to do, then a sudden thought also made its appearance; was his leaving his post for a few minutes in any way responsible for Varun’s situation? This possibility, he was quickly able to dispose off. In the midst of all these conflictions, another pretty mundane issue was popping its head – his open lunchbox; his food. The fact that in such a situation he could still think about food disgusted him, although, he then realised, he was actually very hungry.

He was brought back to attention, from all this meandering emotions by some one nudging him from the back; it was the tea/coffee guy. Very softly, he whispered to Vikram from behind, ‘you have to stop standing there like a statue and do something.’
In and undervoice, Vikram muttered, ‘easy for u to say - the suicidal guy has not called your name‘. All this had happened in the space of hardly a couple of minutes, but to him, it seemed to have been much longer – more like an era.

Slowly, without having a clue as to what he was going to do, Vikram walked towards railing where Varun was standing, looking at him with a strange look in his face - pleading, as if asking for help, and at the same time wishing he had the courage to just jump off. When he saw Vikram coming forward, he started speaking disjointed phrases all over again…’you all are trying to kill me… I might as well do it myself’, ‘what more do you want from me?’, ’am I harming any of you by standing here? Then why are you all staring at me? Go on…do your work…I’m sure you all have important work…’, ’you all can’t stop me from doing what I’m doing…he (pointing at Vikram) knows why I’m doing it, he understands me..’, ‘move back all of u… I don’t want to see your faces, bloated with all the self importance that you give yourself’. While saying these jumble of sentences, he started walking on the railing, his knees shaking constantly.

All the while Vikram was walking slowly towards Varun. In a corner of his mind, he was thankful that he had been in the totally opposite side of the cafeteria (from where Varun was standing), so that he had some time before he came face to face with him. At that moment, absolute chaos was reigning in his head - what was he to do, how was he to bring down a frenzied guy down from the railing on the 10?th floor, what about his food? In that short time, he had made a mental recall of all the countless movies he had seen in his life… was there a precedent he could follow?

Hindi movies: He couldn’t immediately recall any such scene. The one movie where someone was sitting on the railing of the 20th? Floor, she had been pushed down, so that was not the road to go forward in, another movie, the girl stood there, already injured, and then jumped, peacefully. She succeeded in her suicide effort, so that was again not the way to go. Then he wondered why only females fell from railings? He forced himself to not think of such trivialities and focus. In another movie (an old Hindi classic (yes! That was the exact same situation) - one guy had stood high up (on a water tanker was it?) and threatening to jump. But, why was he jumping? Oh yes! He had wanted to get this girl’s (who he liked) aunt to agree to marry her niece to him. Darn! Did that situation apply here? Don’t think so but how was the problem solved? The aunt had been forced into submission. Boy! That had been a good movie… sigh…the hero had been drunk in the scene and it had been hilarious...sigh. Vikram wished he could watch the movie again. Then he came back to the present, ‘hey stop! Focus! Focus! Is Varun drunk too? Well he could very well be….his eyes were bloodshot and he was speaking nonsense…we’ll find out’…

By now, Vikram had almost reached Varun; he paused, should he ask Varun whether he was drunk? And even if he was (drunk) how would that help? Marriage didn’t seem to be the reason Varun was screaming, standing on top of a narrow ledge, on top of the 10th floor. As a last hope, Vikram shifted mode to English movies - was there a way out there? There had been a movie where people had been stranded on the top of a building due to a fire, but then they had all been rescued by seemingly trained firemen, and a few who had jumped were saved by some kind of cushion landing… Naah that was not helpful…where would he be able to manage and coordinate all that? How would he get the cushion landing while stuck with the guy and the spectators on the terrace itself? (Maybe someone else had thought of that and were bringing some kind of arrangement) - Plan 1 temporarily discarded. As Vikram’s memory kept flowing, and he proceeded slowly, the rest of the people walked a little back; whether it was due to Varun’s entreaties or a general disinclination of witnessing a tragic end, was not clear. However, what it resulted in, was a clear semicircle area, considering Varun’s erratic position as the possible centre, and Vikram standing in the middle of the cleared area - still, relaxed (atleast that’s how he looked to the spectators, after all how were they to know that it was not coolness that was keeping him away from panic but tiredness coupled with hunger, and mindless thoughts), and most importantly, silent. There was an expectant pause in Varun’s speeches; he was also hoping for something…what that something was, he himself didn’t know….

Vikram had no clue as to what he should do. Unable to think of any solution, and seeing the expectant looks on everybody’s faces, he just blurted, ’Sir, are you drunk by any chance?’. What followed was a torrent of exclamations - ’what! You’re saying this? You!! I thought you understood!’, ‘you think I’m drunk?! Drunk? I’ve never touched alcohol in all my life and you think I’m drunk?!’ and much more to that effect…. Vikram thought ‘he certainly sounds drunk, but guess he’s not.’ After some more of similarly phrased sentences, Varun stopped, a look of exhaustion mixed with despair on his face; his knees seemed to bend in submission. With an effort, he stood there, unwilling to get off and yet lacking the courage to jump.

Whispers started going on among the people; more people came into the cafeteria, while some left reluctantly (last minute pending deadlines), some recalled the tea/coffee guy back to his duty and were sipping tea/coffee at the back, wondering what was actually going on. The Admin people had been informed and they had reached; but they were also similarly clueless as to what to do, they had informed the fire department people, and asked for help.

Vikram, by this time, had recalled one particular English movie, where the exact same scene had happened; one guy standing on top of the roof of a multi-storeyed building, threatening to jump, when the whole thing had been resolved by the hero of the movie who had climbed up to the same place where the guy was standing, and then explained something (because of the English, Vikram had no clue what that something had been), but whatever it had been, the suicidal guy had become very docile, and had climbed down. And then everyone around had clapped; the hero had become an even bigger hero.

Ah! So this is what he needed to do, but there was a small technical problem; he was scared of heights. Not scared in the literal sense of the word, somewhat not fond of them lets say. Of course, it wasn’t like his knees would shake the moment he looked down from a ladder or something, but to stand on the railing of an open terrace on the 10th floor of a building, with no support, that too in the vicinity of a suicidal person… wasn’t that a little risky? But then again, it was Varun, the nice quiet guy who always talked softly (except now); he might be a little out of sorts, but he wasn’t murderous was he..?

To get more time to contemplate this plan of action, Vikram started to try to calm Varun down, he asked,’ Ok you are not drunk Sir, but then why are you trying to jump off from here’?
This brought forth another torrent of expletives, ‘what have I been saying for the past hour?! (It had not been more than 10 minutes) I am tired, my boss doesn’t let me eat, I hate my boss, my computer is slow, I haven’t gone home in 2 days, my boss doesn’t let me eat, I’m feeling sleepy, and yet my boss doesn’t let me sleep’.
He kept on saying the last sentence on and on as if in a trance; at this juncture, this ‘boss’ of his, attempted to step forward and explain (he was standing at the front of the semicircle of spectators,). ‘Varun, I had just asked you about the pending report. That’s all I’d done. Now come down and stop creating a scene’.
If Varun was frustrated before, now he was maniacally so; had his boss been within reach, he would surely have been throttled. Varun regained his speech after a few moments of disbelief – ‘you had JUST asked me about that pending report??!! You knew the rest of the people are on leave, you didn’t give me leave, I’m the only one working - 2 days continuously, day AND night and you JUST ask me about the pending report while I’m eating LUNCH??’.
There was a collective gasp amongst the crowd ‘Boss’ tried a last time to pacify Varun and convince the audience that he had not been unfair (a lost cause), ‘OK I was wrong in asking, I apologize. Please come down’. This speech had the opposite effect of what it was supposed to have - ’you apologize?! I don’t want your apology. Get lost! You didn’t let me eat’. Varun kept on repeating the same thing over and over again; he seemed on the verge of a breakdown.

During this not-very-friendly tête-à-tête, Vikram had somehow convinced himself that he needed to climb up; he just had to do it. Slowly he motioned to ‘Boss’ to stop talking, and slowly, very slowly, started to climb onto the railing; unfortunately it’s was a little too high to just climb – he needed a support. While he looked around for something he could use, Varun started screaming, ‘why are you coming here, I’m not coming down! Don’t come nearer… or I’ll jump’.
Vikram paused, he said ‘OK sir, I’m not coming up (somewhat relieved that his dangerous task was slightly delayed), but could you tell me what exactly is the problem. I couldn’t understand what you were telling your boss, I know how frustrating your job is - staying late, working alone etc., but why are you jumping off this building? Shouldn’t you be making someone else do that instead?’, quietly pointing with a nod of his head, and looking very meaningfully towards ‘Boss’, who was glowering helplessly at a distance.

Infinitesimally mollified, Varun slightly cooled down. Atleast he stopped repeating ‘he didn’t let me eat’, and now stated recalling all the supposed wrongs done to him by his boss. He stood still and kept looking down at the railing which he had been pacing for last few minutes, when every other person’s heart had been in their hands, looking at him pacing the narrow strip of the railing, knees shaking intermittently.
How, and by what stroke of luck, he hadn’t faltered, was a cosmic mystery; maybe he hadn’t even realised how much danger he had voluntarily signed up for himself.

Then, in front of the Boss’s horrified face, Varun blurted out all the frustration that had been festering in his conscience for quite some time. Of course, the basic reason why he was standing on top of the railing was his Boss’s unsympathetic question about the report while Varun was lunching. However, seemingly, there was more to the whole situation. The gist of the continuous gibberish that was flowing out of Varun was that he had never been a workaholic; he had been forced to become one. He had joined a year before, fresh from college, all plans for an ambitious future, and things were going pretty ok too, training and fun; after 2 months or so he joined the team where he was currently working, where of course ‘Boss’ was the manager.
Initially it had been an easy job, learning, basic reviews etc. However, with time, the senior members kept on unloading their work on him, and he, being the junior-most (besides being somewhat timid and eager to please), couldn’t refuse. Later, he didn’t know how to; he had never been one who liked to say no. Result: long days, extending into nights, sleep deprivation. ’Boss’ apparently knew about the real division of work and yet didn’t do anything to change it, and the worst part was that he was never given the credit for the work. ‘Boss’ supposedly had a favourite in the team, who always got all the opportunities, even though he knew squat and hardly did anything productive. At any point of the day, if one looked at the monitor if this favourite, he would be reading some online gossip, reading some forward. Because of the boss’s favouritism, many had left the team; the 8 member team had dwindled to 5, Boss wasn’t even taking in new joinees; according to him , the work could as well be handled by 5 people, when actually it was almost being handled by a single person (our victim Varun) who had involuntarily transformed into a one-man army.
For the last 2 days, the other 3 were on leave (it was Diwali this week and all had gone home), and the 4th one (boss’s favourite) was preparing to go onsite as he had been selected to go to France to attend a very prestigious training; one that Varun had been sure he’d be selected to go. So Varun had been stranded in office, handling the work of 5 people, without even going home, without sleeping, without proper food, continuously thinking of the opportunity that he hadn’t been given and that had been the last straw (actually the last straw had been the inquiry for the report). That pent up frustration had all erupted when, while he had been eating a proper meal after almost a day, his boss had had the nerve to ask him about the report.

Varun let out a deep breath and stopped; that had been all about it. So, Varun’s sleep-deprived brain had revolted, the nervous system had started doing acrobatics, and had forced him to take a stand (rather, forced him TO stand- that too on the railing of a 10 floor terrace).
Vikram took that golden opportunity to indicate to the tea/coffee guy to push a big flower pot (next to him) a little further so that Vikram would be able to use it as support to climb up. When he looked at the other side, he was momentarily distracted by the Emergency Response Team (ERT) guys, who had finally come and were preparing to move towards Varun, hoping that Varun wouldn’t start pacing again. Unfortunately, (more for Varun, rather than them), seeing Vikram, his only sympathetic listener distracted, Varun did turn around, and the moment he saw them, he returned to his frenzied state - shouting that nobody let him have a moment’s peace. He told the ER guys to stop moving towards him, and threatened to jump if they neared. They tried reasoning with him; to cool him, but Varun was in no state to listen to reason. Although they knew, he most probably wouldn’t jump, but they couldn’t risk it, their only fear being that he would fall by accident. Anyone who was present in the cafeteria would vouch that it was indeed a miracle that he had yet not fallen, given the earthquake that his knees were going through.

The ER team backed off. Actually the problem was, never in their wildest imaginations had they envisaged such a situation, and so they were in no way equipped or prepared to handle it. Another problem was the time factor; when someone was threatening to jump of the 10th floor, one really couldn’t ask that person, ‘excuse me, could you please delay it a while so that we can arrange a cushion landing?’ or maybe ‘when are you going to jump? Is it worthwhile to get the cushion landing brought here?’. The ERT guys had called here and there and a cushion landing was on the way, but when that would reach was an unanswered question.

So whatever hope Vikram had had for a moment, of returning to his lunch, and of being spared the Varun saving session, died. Everyone, including the ERT and the ‘Boss’, were looking expectantly; he was even momentarily annoyed; what were they expecting? A miracle? As he looked down below, he swallowed, the prospect of standing at such a height for long, was not tempting at all. And then, in a flash of genius, a scene from the English movie with Hindi dialogues, Titanic, struck him.

Maybe he didn’t have to climb the railing after all; what had the hero done in the movie, merely tell the girl (again!) how cold the water was and how difficult it would be for him to come after her. OK small technical problem – he couldn’t very well tell Varun that he’d come after him if he jumped, but what he could do was, scare him with the results of his fall.
So Vikram, our hero, proceeded to act like Leonardo Di Caprio aka Jack Dawson, and said to Varun,’ Ok fine Sir, nobody is coming to force you down and I understand what you have gone through… but Sir, did you think about what will happen once you jump? Varun, unfazed, ‘I’ll die what else?’.
Now that wasn’t very encouraging, but Vikram continued, ’well, its going to be very painful, and it might so happen, that you won’t die, and instead be permanently damaged - broken all over but not dead, with brain damage, so much so that you would not be able to speak again, or try to die again; then you’d be taken to a mental institution where you would live for the rest of your life, you would not released for fear that you’d try this (pointing at the railing) again.’ (Vikram had no idea, if anyone could come out alive from a 10 storey leap, but what the heck? he could give it a shot).
Varun didn’t seem very affected by the vision; he said,’ I don’t understand why you, of all people, are trying to bring me down. Your life is as screwed as mine; pathetic, boring, tedious, unappreciated. You and I share misery, and yet you think I should come down?’

The truth of the statement left Vikram a little stunned; his job was pathetic. Yet, somehow, he shook his head, as if to remove the unsavoury thoughts and concentrated on trying to find some way to convince Varun. He repeated, ‘why are you doing this Sir? What will you gain? Etcetera etcetera’.
Varun was in no mood to come down. His eyes now had a gleam, bordering on madness. He said, ‘I think you should also come up; together we’ll prove a point to this world that we need a life too, c’mon - don’t you want the world to remember you as the hero who sacrificed himself for his creed’ (of course, Varun meant the profession of security…most probably, although what was the point of the while exercise was still beyond comprehension.. but nevertheless).. Varun kept speaking in this manner, looking all around, as if he was an army general, and he was delivering a speech before a battalion of reluctant soldiers.

What happened next left the entire cafeteria stunned; Vikram said to Varun, ‘Yes Sir, you’re right, I deserve better!’, and climbed onto the railing. There was yet another collective gasp in the crowd. Some people shook their head, some started talking urgently among themselves, while some looked thoughtfully at Vikram, guessing they knew what he was trying to do, and yet unsure.

What was going on in Vikram’s mind was another convoluted story; what was he thinking? Well, at that moment, Vikram himself was shocked into inaction. Several questions ran in his head: how had he been crazy enough to climb onto the railing, that too all of a sudden? Had he really been inspired by Varun? Was he going to jump? Or had he come here to save Varun? What was he doing? What if Varun pushed him? What if Varun jumped? Would he have to jump too? What the heck was he doing? He looked around, hoping for help of some kind but he was disappointed. Everyone was instead standing down there expecting him to do something.

What was he to do? To play for time (yet again), he decided to follow Varun’s suit.
Varun, on the other hand, was ecstatic; he looked totally maniacal now, a somewhat triumphant look coming into his face. The frustration lost, a childish joy of victory had crept into his face; what that victory was, he himself didn’t know.

Vikram now said, almost as loudly as Varun had been saying for the past 10-15 minutes, ‘I hate my job – you people make me sick, never acknowledging our presence or service, always looking busy - I have nothing to do all day, I hate my job and I don’t even get paid for it. I hate my job’. As he said all this, he realised, in dismay, that he wasn’t pretending, not at all. All the words were simply flowing out – he actually hated his job. In some mental confusion, he looked around, just as Varun had done, and met the eye of the Admin head who was staring very intently at him (maybe realised that Vikram was not, like everybody thought, putting on an act).

Vikram was shocked that he had no difficulty in acting that way, was he really that frustrated? He had had no clue. Yes he knew he didn’t like his job, but until now he hadn’t known that he hated it. Or did he? Maybe he was unintentionally acting very well, he tried to reassure himself. Then, as if to assure the Admin guy, Vikram smiled at him. (What Vikram hadn’t known was that that smile had actually been a wicked grin, and had done much to scare the daylights out of the Admin head).

On one side, he saw the ERT guys trying again to approach him and Varun (they were not sure whether Vikram was pretending or serious), but he warned them, loudly , not to come…or else…

In the meanwhile, the few moments of respite from shouting, (for Varun) had rather subdued him. The joy had left his face and he just looked like a tired, rather stubborn kid. He stood there silently when Vikram turned to him and said, ‘Lets jump Sir, right now.’ Vikram had played his last card.
Being encouraged for the first time to jump, Varun was now hesitant for a second.
Softly, barely above a whisper, he asked ‘Vikram, are you sure you want to do this?’
Vikram, recognising the touch of reluctance, said loudly,’ Yes sir, what’s there in this world for us, bad job, bad pay, lets jump.’
Varun, somewhat unsure, the gleam from his eyes faded, said softly ‘but what will your jumping achieve? Don’t you have a family who cares for you? I’m an orphan, so I can die, but you… you can’t just give up‘.
Vikram realised that his last card had worked. Varun had relatively calmed down, and no longer wanted to jump or anything. However, he also knew that Varun couldn’t just get down and walk back to his work station; he had an ego after all. So here he was, silently, asking for a way out, such that he could come down and not become the person who didn’t have the guts to do it. Vikram understood that all Varun now wanted was to get off safely without losing face, or facing the wrath of his ‘Boss’.
So Vikram played along and said ‘Yes I can! So what if I have a family? If you are proving a point Sir, I also want to do so; you can’t do this alone.’, and looked intently at Varun, as if trying to indicate to him that he understood, and he would play along..
Varun, as if working on cue, immediately started shouting in a somewhat theatrical way, ‘somebody take him down! He shouldn’t jump! I can’t be the person responsible for inspiring another’s death’.
Now, Vikram said the final words which would be all to get Varun back to safe ground without him feeling that he had lost face, ’Sir, I can’t let you take all the glory with you. I won’t allow you to jump alone!’
A look a relief flooded over Varun’s face, and he said, ‘calm down Vikram. Ok fine, maybe I won’t jump please go down.’
Vikram, in a moment of suspicion that Varun, was after all going to jump, refused and said ’No Sir, first you go down, and then I will’.

During this very interesting exchange of words, the rest of the people were extremely confused; some thought that Vikram had also lost his mind, while some were all praise for his presence of mind and reverse methodology, while some didn’t know what to think; they were just wishing that the scene would conclude, so that they could return to their computers/chat/work/email. Now, most of them realised that Varun wouldn’t jump but also that he wasn’t going to come down on his own as he wouldn’t want to look like a coward. They were all willing to entertain his stance; if only he would come down and end the episode. They knew they would have no choice in believing him when later, he would say that he would have jumped had it not been for the sake of the guard. It was a façade, Varun, knew it, Vikram knew it, everyone else also knew it, but they would all have to let it remain so.

When Vikram agreed to come down only after Varun, Varun didn’t look like he minded, but then again, he appeared to demur, as if still thinking that he’d jump after Vikram got down. Everyone knew the reality, and yet everyone had to pretend; someone spoke out from the spectators, ‘c’mon Varun, don’t do this, save the guard, come down’…
Others also voiced out similar words, and finally Varun agreed to come down TOGETHER with Vikram. Having progressed this far, Vikram wasted no time in agreeing and said ‘OK sir, lets go down‘, and proceeded to get off.

Vikram jumped, but whether it was some water on the railing or something else, he didn’t know, but he tumbled, momentarily on one foot on top of the railing, and then he could see that he was falling. After that moment, all was hazy until the end.

He realised he was falling down, he could see the floors rushing above him, and yet he was not hitting ground. He was helpless and yet in that state, he was thinking, maybe it will be painless and instantaneous death; he prayed…and yet… the floors continued to rush above. Then suddenly he realised, he was not alone; someone else was also falling - it was Varun, who looked happy. Varun said ‘Boss didn’t let me eat, but why did you jump?’ Vikram screamed, ’I didn’t want to jump, atleast I don’t think I wanted to jump, except at that one point in the beginning. You pushed me!’. Varun nudged him and then suddenly it was raining….
‘Everything is all right Vikram, be calm and open your eyes.’ The voice sounded vaguely familiar. He opened his eyes; the voice belonged to the Admin Head. That meant he was not dead. Thank God! But where was he? What had happened?

In typical movie style, Vikram looked around in confusion (even he wasn’t sure if it was an act) and asked, ‘where am I?’ It was an effort, his head was throbbing; he closed his eyes. The voice said, ‘you had to trip didn’t u.? After all the saving Varun, you had to get hurt eh? Anyway, nothing much happened, you tripped, heaven knows how and fell face forwards. And that’s not all, you hit your head on the flower pot and lost consciousness,’ in such a casual way, as if he was reading the news. ‘Anyway, as for where you are, you are in the company dormitory, and a doctor is on the way’, he further continued.
Vikram heaved a sigh of relief; he was hungry. What had happened to his lunch box, he wondered. He asked, ‘can I eat something?’. Something like a grin came over the Admin head’s grim face, ‘well after what happened with Varun today, do you think anyone will be refused food today? I’ll send in some food.’ As he started leaving, he turned back, and as a forethought asked Vikram, ‘ so tell me something honestly, were you really acting when you got up there and said all those things about your job?’

Vikram hesitated for a second but then decided not to lie, ’Sir, I wasn’t acting when I was complaining about the job, but I think I was acting about the jump.’
The Admin Head sighed, ‘you still THINK you were acting about the jump? You’re not sure? Well better be sure you know. One wouldn’t like to be facing the same situation another day. And yes don’t publicise this all right?’
‘Yes Sir, I know. I’m sure’, replied Vikram.

Vikram still wasn’t sure but he wanted to be so and he said that; but in his heart he knew that for a few seconds he had actually drifted into Varun’s world of madness, glory, martyrdom. Luckily he had drifted back soon enough. He couldn’t tell anybody else this; it was just between him and the Admin Head. Some people in the spectators had understood his moment of dilemma, most hadn’t. Anyway, now he could pretend that it had all been part of the plan.

While he was eating, the doctor came and prescribed some medicines, after putting some bandage on Vikram’s bruised head (besides the concussion, there was a cut which had bled slightly). The Admin Head came back and further updated him; Varun had been kept under medical supervision, and he was currently sleeping in the next room. His emergency contact number had been used and his roommate was on the way to take him home. Boss had apparently granted him a leave for as long as it needed to become all right.

As for Vikram, did he want to go home? Yes he did but only after sleeping for a while. He was tired and his head was playing football with the rest of his body, rather like that girl in that Hindi movie, something to do with a ‘Beckam’? Wait; was it a Hindi movie or English? The rest of the people in the movie were English, but the girl was Indian….maybe it was like Titanic; English movie with Hindi dialogues…..

Epilogue:
As Vikram stepped into the lift, with his bandaged head, he felt somewhat different. Not that now he was looking forward to the day at work, or that he now loved his job or anything, but the feeling of helping out someone had made it seem not so bad, after all. Then he realised that everyone else in the lift was staring at him. Finally someone said, ’your Vikram right? Hey great work yesterday, how’s your head?’ Others also chimed in with their words of praise. Someone else said ‘great presence of mind by the way. When and how did it strike you to behave like you also wanted to jump? And how did you have the courage to climb? You were really convincing, you know. For a moment we thought you were actually going to jump.’ Vikram smiled; a faraway look came into his eyes for a second and disappeared. He said ‘well the idea came to my mind the moment I saw him climb the railing. You know how it is – we security people have to think on our feet and react.’ with an air of authority.

Vikram sat at his desk, almost feeling useful. He knew nothing had changed in his job and in a few days the hue and cry would die and he would yet again start hating the job.
Until then… he’d enjoy his 15 minutes (literally) of fame.

By the way, if anyone is interested, ‘Boss’ quit his job and joined another organization; he couldn’t tolerate the stares he got from everyone around him.

Varun got promoted to Module leader after a few months of undergoing stress therapy. Since that incident, he never spent nights at office, and made sure that the people working under didn’t do so either.

Varun and Vikram became friends; Vikram no longer called him ‘Sir’ and sometimes, they even shared lunch; turns out Aloo Gobhi was Varun’s favourite dish too…

...Without a Twist - Part I

Unless one counts the school English class exercises and the one competition I’d taken part it in (in which I won 3rd prize by the way), this is my maiden effort at story writing. That’s why its been while since I posted anything. As it always happens with me, the short story started getting longer, and so I’ve decided to post it in two parts…
So here goes..

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“As Vikram stepped into the lift, he tried to look forward to the day, but like every other day, he didn’t succeed. He didn’t enjoy his job.
And why would he, he often said to his wife when she started pointing out to him that other people were worse off…

When he was a kid, he had always wanted to be a policeman, he had loved playing ‘Chor Police’, chasing the bad guys (invariably his best friend and the neighbour’s kid – Satyam), and most of the times he had managed to overcome evil with good. During those days, the movies also always made the police the good men... sometimes even the main protagonist was a policeman. What more did a kid of 8-9 need? His own hero acting out his dream job. He always dreamed of the day he would be awarded a medal for his bravery.

However in the course of growing up, his dreams somewhat subsided; his inertia of action, plus the fact that the movies had started showing the policemen mostly as corrupt officials who merely acted according to the wishes of the goons (after of course being heavily bribed by them), made him somewhat less eager to be a part of the same organization.

The movies have always had a big impact on his mind. As a kid, for a month or so, he adopted a stray dog, fed him, played with him, after seeing the movie ‘Tere Meherbaniyaan’ which had a canine playing a great role. After a month, the fever wore off, and soon the dog was left to his own devices (even though the dog still wondered around the lanes near his home). During his late teens, he had made an attempt to convince his supposed sweetheart (Satyam’s sister – Maya who was 2 years younger to him) to elope with him after declaring his undying love for her in the most theatrical way possible (as shown in the English movies – ones he had seen mostly for the images as the accent was too tough for his Hindi medium 10th standard English to follow). Fortunately, she, a level headed girl with no such great love for drama, brought him back right to reality, saying she liked him, but marriage and that too elopement was a rather impractical idea. Patiently, she said that there was no need to elope as she could foresee no problem, why either of their parents would object, considering they were such good neighbours and occasional lunch/dinner invitees. He stared at her, all the drama sucked out of his heart, while she explained how they were going to go about the whole issue of marriage. Bit by bit, she mapped out how he’d need to get a job, then, ask her parents while she would stall her parents’ groom-searching by some pretext.

At that time, they were 19 and 18 respectively, and Maya had mapped the next 5 years for the both of them, Disappointed by the rather flat course of events, totally contrary to the outcome he had expected (both of them riding far away on a bike (how he’d get that was something he had not thought about), while their parents coming after them with promises to let them be together, all contrite in shame), he agreed to her plan.
His future had been planned out while he was still struggling in the 10th standard of a local school for the 3rd time. For three years now, Vikram had searched in vain at the results sheet of the matriculation exam, hoping to see his roll number in the list of passes. Each time, he was disappointed. Watching movies every Friday had taken its toll. On Fridays, the teachers never saw him, on Wednesdays too he was hardly to be seen (that was the day of the week when Maya came from school early), the rest of the days, he was physically present in class, but mentally someplace else.
Trapped in a class with boys 3 juniors to him, it was but natural for him not to prefer going there. He lived in an alternative reality, where his parents didn’t nag him to study, where Maya didn’t keep planning unromantic undramatic courses of life, where he wasn’t trying to comprehend the complexities of physics in a room full of screaming 15 year olds who thought about nothing but cricket and exams; this was his world. Here, he was the director, the hero, the theme of the film, his parents were grateful that they were HIS parents, Maya felt lucky just being in his presence and listening to his words of wisdom, the boys in his class worshipped him because of his status as an adult - he was happy in this world.

When he failed to pass the matriculation exam for the 4th consecutive year, his parents were not really surprised. They finally gave up and allowed him to quit school. What he would do was a matter of contention. His dreams had changed dramatically (no pun intended) – he wanted to be an actor. Maya tried to talk him out of it, his father tried to force him out of it, his mom tried to cajole him out of it but he would not budge. He had worked it all out. He had a friend who had friend who had a cousin who was acting in some television show in Mumbai. He would go to Mumbai, stay with that unknown person and try his luck too.

What followed was a sequence of events that changed his perception of life forever – made him grow up. Leaving the painful parts, lets just say that post that experience, Vikram never takes any food from any train passengers, no matter how friendly and harmless they seem, neither does he keep much cash while travelling, and when someone says that ‘My friend’s friend’s cousin’s son will help you’, he doesn’t believe him. Also, he never stays in stranger’s rooms without keeping his luggage locked, never trusts people who seem to be going out of their way to do him a favour. The falsity of people, the tinsel unsure of the movies struck him like a jolt.

Sufficient to say, he came back from Mumbai after 2 years, disillusioned, disappointed and dejected. Having lived in a room not much bigger than the storeroom of the rented house here, trying to start a career in acting, a talent which he slowly started realizing didn’t exist in him, staying with a good for nothing guy who spent all his time in bars or the production houses, doing spot jobs here and there, feeling ashamed of going back, he had longed for the sanctuary of his parent’s comfort, his mom’s patting his back, consoling him, and his father speaking his few words of consolation, which contained no sign of the ‘I told u so’ taunt. It was only after Maya’s frequent persuasions that he found the courage in himself to return back… with even less than what he had gone with.

Nobody asked him what happened, and neither did he ever speak about it. Sometimes, in moments of painful memory, he would recall flashes of those terrible days, alone, uncared and be thankful that he’d come back. He recovered quickly, and now, even though he no longer wanted to have anything to do with cinema, he retained his original custom of visiting the theatres every Friday and that’s where the passion ended. His father got him a job at a nearby restaurant, as a waiter. He lasted there for about 3 months; somehow the concept of taking orders of food from people and recalling it at the kitchen, seemed like a job too lowly for him (according to him). Then followed a series of jobs which never lasted more than 3 months (maximum) - waiter; delivery person, salesman, were some of the jobs among the range...

He realized that he didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life, he didn’t know what he was good at, he didn’t know what he was interested in; he felt completely lost. After 2 years of changing jobs, his parents were frustrated and so was he. And then came the lightning jolt that broke his indecision and made him desperate to get hold of a job where he was interested enough to stay. That jolt was the search for prospective grooms for their daughter by Maya’s parents. Maya had managed to stall the search for almost a year now, and now after seeing his meandering career moves, she knew he needed a shock to make him consider his actions.

One evening, she told him that even though her parents had a slight suspicion that they were in love, but they could see nothing in him to make him even slightly acceptable in the role of their daughter’s husband. His past adventures as an unsuccessful actor, and his stream of temporary jobs had even worsened his impression. She confided, somewhat shyly, to her brother, Vikram’s friend Satyam, who had his suspicions from a long time. Satyam was not surprised and neither was he against it; however he had his concerns regarding his friend’s career plans. That night he had a heart to heart talk with him and they came out with a plan. Satyam would approach his supervisor at work and try to get his friend a job at the same security firm where he worked.

Satyam worked as a Guard at a local bigshot’s house; sent there as a part of a 2 member team who stayed at their post outside the huge gate of the mansion 24/7 on a shift basis. Inspite of the long nights, sleepy afternoons, he didn’t mind the job – his employer being a generous tipper and a humane person in general. When recommending the job to his friend, he focused on these factors and very tactfully omitted all the other inconveniences of the job. Likewise, while recommending Vikram for the job, he didn’t mention all his failed jobs and just mentioned the sojourn to Mumbai. After an interview, Vikram had to wait for a week until he was informed that he was now an employee of the security firm. He was allocated as a guard at a software firm quite far from his locality…and that’s where he was still working, for 3 years now.

That job gave him the right opportunity to ask Maya’s hand in marriage, and made his family much less in despair and much more proud of him, and yet, at as he walked to his desk, in the lobby, he wasn’t grateful. He knew it was a good job, paying ok, but somehow the job wasn’t as exciting as he’d expected it to be. The monotony had a deadening effect on his enthusiasm; he didn’t feel like a guard protecting the people there. He was just an attachment to the institution, a person required, but essentially of no use. He himself wondered, of what use he would be in an emergency situation (not that he could imagine an emergency in such a boring place as the office he was posted in); he had no training, no gun, no access to the few security cameras installed, and almost no authority. However, since emergencies were a distant improbability, he wasn’t really worried, just a tad bored.
Even though he had been in that office for a little over 3 years, and in the process, been promoted from the external gate, to the internal entry and then finally now he was one of the floor security guards (a job considered much more comfortable than the previous
two), he was yet to start liking the job.

Anyway, moving back to where we started…
That morning, as he took his place at his desk, he could still feel the tiredness in his eyes. Two day before, he had had the night shift, which he had been unable to sleep off the next day; that sleeplessness hadn’t left him. It was 6:55 am and he had 12 hours to go. Until 8:30, the office was almost empty, except for the one employee, Varun who frequently spent nights in office, doing what Vikram couldn’t really fathom, and who sometimes talked to him in moments of stress during his own night-outs. After 8:30, the company buses started arriving and the place started looking inhabited.
While the lifts stopped at his floor, people came in, sometimes greeting him, a smile of acknowledgement, a nod, while some didn’t bother to give any sign that they recognized him. After all he was a security guard at a corporate organization where they were the privileged employees. And that was case when he was in his uniform; navy blue shirt and pants with grey colour at the sleeves, a tie, a cap which he seldom wore, and black shoes. Not an uncommon colour combination, especially when 20 other guards wore the exact same uniform. Their acknowledging his existence when he wasn’t in uniform was an event that had less probability of happening than that of pigs flying.

It was just 9am - he had another 11 hours to go before he could go back to the comfort of his home. Everyday, he did the same thing, count the hours; it was some pass time to make the job more bearable. His job currently had some responsibilities (as compared to previous 2 posts where it was perfunctory and not much more than being at the specified place at the specified times. Now, he was responsible for checking whether al the people coming into the floor had the company tags with them, allotting temporary id cards to the people who had forgotten to bring their ids, registering the employee ids of the same, redirecting any external people (courier services, bank people etc.) to the administrative floor, checking the housekeeping staff as and when they left the floor, registering people who have visitors , ensuring that no unauthorized person enters the workplace, checking if all the desks etc. are locked, and handling any other unexpected situation (which was yet to happen in his 3 years of experience).

So it was really not a very exciting job, and neither was it too socially active; because all the guards worked in shifts in the different floors, they had very less interaction, and as they had to be at their desk for 95% of their shift, they hardly got around to interacting with each other. Lunches were solitary with the rare incidence of company if some guard one knew also got off at the same time. There were invisible lines throughout the workplace; the employees, the housekeeping, the security, the admin, the cafeteria staff - they all had their groups, it was rare to see them intermingling. Call it difference, call it discrimination, it had evolved into a commonality. Some employees were indifferent to such demarcations and had their share of conversations with the tea counter person, the guard, the household staff, while some didn’t do so much as acknowledge their presence or the service that these people did for them. Most of the staff were inured to it and didn’t mind; it was not expected that employees would socialize with them – after all they were highly educated people who spent hours doing really complex and important work on their machines (computers); something they (staff) could barely comprehend, while others suffered through the thanklessness of their jobs, persevering for the sake of themselves.

As it was with Vikram, he had a few acquaintances here and there within the company; whom he managed to come across once or twice a week. The morning was generally the busiest time of the day for him. However, that morning, as if to accentuate his tedium, except for a few employees not bringing their id cards, there was no activity on his floor.

The general attitudes of the employees sometimes really irritated him. They knew they had to bring and display their id cards before entering the facility, and yet each day, someone or the other would just enter (try) with no sign of their id card or the lanyard attached to it. Generally it was easy for him to make out if the employee had the card, either around his neck, or attached to their pants’ pocket with clip, or in their hands, because of the bright red colour of the lanyard. However, some people would have it on them, but inside their pocket, or inside their bags (especially girls/ladies), and then he would have to start the reluctant process of asking them, then they would make an expression as if it was a burden on them to have to display and as if he was causing unnecessary trouble, then they would fumble within their bags and finally bring it out. Sometimes, after minutes and minutes of exploring the bag, they would be unable to unearth it. All confused and mystified, they would look at him slightly apologetically after which he would have to issue a temporary card after registering their names etc. He knew most of the people on the floor (by face) and yet he had to follow the procedure of asking for their id cards as if he was not sure they actually worked here. It was standard procedure, he hadn’t made it, however the employees behaved as if he was solely responsible for their waste of time in searching for an id card. He was used to their expressions and had become an expert in making his face unexpressive and blank during the entire process.

It was almost 11 am and the second round of employees had also finally come in (these were the people who maybe owned vehicles and did not avail the company transport which commuted at ungodly early hours, or people who just didn’t like coming early) when Vikram was really glad to see another uniformed guard coming down the steps from the upper floor. This guy had the night shift and that day his replacement had come four hours late, and finally now he was leaving. Vikram knew that his colleague wouldn’t be too pleased but he was desperate; he was really sleepy and needed some tea to wake him up. All he wanted was a replacement for 5 minutes so that he could rush to the cafeteria two floors up and get a cup of tea. The other guy would have had an intuition because he pretended not to even look towards Vikram and tried proceeding further. However, Vikram got out of his seat and literally ran towards the stairs and called him back. Very reluctantly, and not very happily, the tired fellow agreed to sit in, but warned Vikram (who lost no time in leaving) to be back in time.

When Vikram greeted the guard at the cafeteria, he realized that the only thing at work he was thankful about was that he had managed to be a floor guard without having to go through the phase of being the cafeteria guard, which was inarguably the worst job of all. While the external and internal guards were atleast not alone (there would usually be two at a time), and they had the relief of being in the open, where the outside world did a lot to alleviate the tedium around, the cafeteria guard was the one who had nowhere to run.
Sitting at the entrance of the cafeteria, a solitary chair, (luckily a few days back, a table was also allocated) a register; that was the sum and substance of that job. All day the allocated guard had to sit, and check if all the people who entered the place had their ID cards or not, and if not, he had to note down the employee IDs. The worst part was, most of the people didn’t wear the card as it was meant to be worn, .i.e. around their neck; some had it in their hands, some in their pockets, and he had to literally visually scan every person and check if that person’s lanyard was visible, all in a fraction of a second (during the busy lunch hours). He didn’t have a moment of respite (except when he went into the floors to sit in for each of the floor guards while they had their lunch); even when he ate his solitary lunch, he had to sit near the entrance, facing it, so that he could continue his job while he had his meal. Besides that, all day he had no other responsibilities, not even nominal. Bored to the core, the post of the cafeteria guard was the most common position where the maximum number of guards quit the job. It was just not worth it. Sitting all day, staring at the entrance, and sometimes turning back and looking at the large screen of the flat-screen TV installed at the other end of the eatery. The current guard was looking like he’d resign the next day, although he kept busy all day, doing something or the other on his mobile.

Vikram got back to his desk a little later than he’d said, knowing fully that he’d be cursed at end when he returned, but he’d apologize and hopefully, the guy wouldn’t have minded that very much. However, he was in for a shock when he returned; his desk was empty, the guy, who was already irritated and tired and didn’t see why he had to fill up for a guy (Vikram of course) who needed 15 minutes to get tea, had left.

Our friend here was in an internal frenzy; he went and sat at his desk – checking all the registers and drawers to see if anything was amiss – why he thought something would be amiss he himself didn’t know. He had no idea for how long his post had been unattended and prayed that it was not more than a few minutes. Nevertheless, all through the checking, his mind was in a whirlwind of fear – what if the Admin people had come to his floor at that point (highly improbable but that dint strike him), what if some non-employee (housekeeping etc.) had entered the floor facility without getting registered and what if somehow the admin found out, what if some visitor had come inside the facility and the admin found out, what if some dangerous person had entered the facility and the admin found out (of course the admin would find out), what if some housekeeping staff or employees had noticed his non-availability at his desk and reported him to admin (housekeeping would never do it, and employees hardly noticed him but still.), what it , what if what if..

As these endless thoughts wavered around his head, while he sat there blankly, his replacement for lunch break , the cafeteria guard , with whom he had enjoyed that cursed cup of tea came in, and asked why he looked like he was about to die. He was a new guy (the new recruits always got either the cafeteria or the external gate) and was very cautious regarding his job. He never missed a moment out of duty, sitting on his chair at the cafeteria, looking rather bored and useless, staring at nothing in general, or noting some irreverent nonsense in the last page of the register which he would afterward tear off. On hearing his friend’s nervous possibilities, instead of allaying his fears, he brought forward worse things that could have happened in his absence. He, in fact suggested that the best thing would be to go and tell admin about this regrettable lapse in security.
Ironically, the cafeteria guard’s frenzied, rather unsuitable advice had the effect of calming our hero here, because instead of being worried of what could have happened in his absence, he was instead explaining to the other guy why all his suggestions and notions were unusable and completely illogical.

After making a thorough check of his desk, Vikram left the cafeteria guard in his place, and went inside the facility to make sure everything was normal (which by now, he was pretty sure it was); after all, if in these 3 years of work, nothing had ever happened to disturb the harmony (or monotony, whatever) of the place, why would anything out of the ordinary knock on the door in the few minutes he was away from his desk? And he was right. Relieved, he went for lunch, carrying with him the tiffin carrier that his wife had packed. He hated that even while having his lunch, he had to make sure that everyone entering the cafeteria was carrying their id card; every day he hoped that nobody had come without it because then he’d have to get up during his lunch and note down the numbers.

As he sat facing the entrance, opening his home packed lunch, elaborately opening all the containers and checking their contents; it was his favourite – Aloo Gobhi and daal, along with rice, when he heard some kind of commotion going on at the other end of the cafeteria. He assumed that it must be something do with the television and continued eating his food. Then he heard a single voice, vaguely familiar, dripping in anger and frustration, shrilly shouting some profanities – he immediately turned back. What met his eyes made him get up and stand - shell shocked; so much that he didn’t even move. The workaholic from his floor, Varun, with whom he had had many a conversation during the night shifts, was standing on the railing, holding his head, as if wanting to tear his hair out and screaming obscenities at the people who were trying to bring him down.

With an effort, Vikram moved from his seat and walked towards Varun. The people in the cafeteria were all in a nervous state, staring helplessly at the screaming guy, not knowing what to do. As he neared, Varun saw him and cried out ‘You know how I’m feeling! You know hard it is to work here, night shifts, black coffee, silent workplace… you know how it is!!’ As if in a single motion, all heads turned towards Vikram, and he stood there, aware that for the first time in 3 years, he had a chance to actually do something…..

Puri -The Holy City of the Unblessed..

The city is not unfamiliar to me – I was here about 13 years ago, with my parents and brother. This time too, I was there with my parents.

We reached the city (I guess ‘town’ would be a better word) in the early hours of the morning, when dawn had just about made its comeback. Since I’d been there a long time back, I really had no recollections of the things or places (in Puri) that had not astonished or amazed me; that is to say, that had not made an impression on me. That’s why, the railway station was new to me – a long stretch of platform which extended on and on, onto the station, which was somewhat clean and quiet, totally unlike the crowded noisy railway station that we’d left at Kolkata. Whether that was because of the diminutiveness of the place or the early hours, was something I couldn’t conclusively figure out.

As we left the station, and traversed across the town, we came across big, big bungalows with beautifully maintained gardens. All these crafted structures belong to the ranks of the administrative services; copper plates engraved with ‘Officer of the IPS’, ‘Collector’ etc. were nailed on the series of gates of all the different bungalows, all in a single linear road. Maybe that part of the town is the administrative hub of Puri.

Finally we entered the street along the sea. As usual, I couldn’t take my eyes off the water – breathing in the slightly salty air, and hearing the rushing sound of the waves. The hotel we were booked into (Puri hotel) is sea facing; situated directly across the street along the beach. We’d stayed in the same place, the last time we were in Puri. Due to the hotel being one of the oldest in the place, it is also one of the biggest and well established.

Even though Puri is quite a popular holiday destination for people of neighbouring states, especially of West Bengal, (it being an overnight journey away from Kolkata) the cost of the place is not very high. Generally, in popular destinations, sea facing hotels (so close to the water that one can even see the blue from the rooms) with balconies overlooking the sea, would easily cost over a thousand. Here a triple-bed room cost us about 800 rupees, the room being pretty decent too. As we settled into the room, we could see the first glimpse of the rising sun on the left side of the balcony view.

Puri has a pretty long stretch of beach and the best part is that the beach is parallel to the east-west direction, along the Bay of Bengal. So everyday, in the morning, while facing the sea, and looking leftwards, one can get a glorious view of the sun rising from the water (i.e. only if the weather is clear) and every evening, looking rightwards, one can see the sun sinking deep into the horizon – leaving for its daily siesta after the long day.

From the hotel, the beach is just about 5 minutes away – after all, all one has to do to reach the water, is cross the road, and walk across the sand. The sand of the beach preceding the water is not particularly clean – very dirty in fact. The scarcity of toilets and the abundance of homeless people have created their impact – mostly on the beach. Supposedly, (according to my mother) every morning, directly across Puri hotel (where the beach is relatively empty with no shops) from about 4am, people can be seen moving towards the sand, squatting, and after a few minutes, covering up their crime with the surrounding sand. Of course, the sea water does its job of cleaning the rest. Fortunately (again, according to source), this phenomena does not occur at all the stretches of the beach, and particularly not in the part of beach which has the evening bazaar. I, myself have never seen something like this happen, although I have seen people relieving themselves into the sand, just after entering the beach from the street, far (thankfully) from the water.

Anyway, inspite of the unconfirmed nature of the above conjectures, each time I walked towards the water, I totally avoided looking too deeply, at anything beneath the sand; maybe that’s why I didn’t come across any such unpleasantness. Or, maybe it was, after all, all a misconception and nobody ever squatted on the beach although, I have a sneaky feeling it wasn’t.

The Puri sea has a character of its own – sometimes quiet, bordering on serenity, and sometimes violent, touching the peak of its fury. Yes I know it’s a scientific phenomenon called tides, which happens at every sea beach. However, in Puri, the sea changes in minutes – something I experienced the second day we were there. It was about 8am in the morning, and we decided to go into the water for a little while before going to the Jagannath temple which was the main action item for that morning. As we reached the shore, I felt the same serene joy that I always feel when I come face to face with the sea..(I know I know I’ve said all of this before but I can’t help it)… Waves playing endlessly with the shore, the sands moving with the flow, as if having no control against the power of the waves, the air leaving its distinct smell – not pleasant and yet not unpleasant ; I just love the whole feel of the cool breeze coupled with the happy sunshine. Even though these extremely joyous rays also double as intense burning rays, which prove to be really unbeneficial for the skin tone (foreigners might go on and on about sun bathing, its just sun burn and dark tan for Indians), once I’m at the beach, I never want to leave.

As usual, I’m wavering from the point. As I was saying, the temperament of the Puri waters changes without following any pattern (or so it seems). That morning, initially the waves were small, gently lapping into the shore; even when we went a little deeper, there was no sign of turbulence. Then suddenly, in a matter of 5-10 minutes, the ocean changed its stance; waves started dashing into the shore – higher and higher, angrier and angrier: violent, noisy, and very, very powerful. People who knew swimming remained where they were, taking full advantage of the heightened fury of the water, while people like me (untrained in the art of swimming) started moving back, momentarily shaken by the sudden intensity of the waves. Then again, after about 10-15 minutes of a show of temper, the ocean cooled off, the water started receding back to its tranquil lazy form. Its incomprehensible why, after seeing that majestic exhibition of mood swings, I felt complete unadulterated peace.

We then, went on to the holiest place in the town (maybe even the entire state of Orissa) – Jagannath temple. It is said (the source my mother), the temple is ancient, and at some point in the distant past, it had been covered by sand, and had fallen into oblivion. And then, after several years (I have no clue about even the approximation of that number), it was re-discovered, only due to someone’s noticing something shiny jutting out of the sand from a far distance. That ‘something’ was the temple’s ‘Shikhara’ or the ‘topmost point’ of the temple. The temple is huge and beautifully architectured. One can imagine the age of the temple by looking at the intricate engraved figures on all the walls of the main shrine. The Jagannath temple, now, is an enclosed set of structures, constituting of many temples, all situated around the central temple, the heart of Puri – the Jagannath shrine, which is actually a shrine containing a trio of Gods, the names I cannot recall.

Due to commercialization of the place, and the immense crowds, to reach the actual room (where the original idols are placed and worshipped), one has to hire a local pandit, ‘Panda’. They start approaching you the moment you set foot in Puri. Starting from the railway station, all the way to the hotel, and even then if you don’t hire one and arrive at the temple yourself without a Panda (in foolish optimism that how difficult can it be to find one’s way in a temple), you’ll eventually find yourself obliged to hire one, just so that you can be guided through the labyrinths of the temple; spaces halls and corridors, and also through the swarming crowds. When you finally do reach the holy shrine, you are granted just a moment’s glimpse of the holy gods, above and past the bowed heads of people already standing there in prayer. I still remembered the crowds from the last time we were there, how I felt trapped inside a closed room with no space , except for the air above our heads (maybe that experience was worse so because of my age and physical height) . Add to that memory, my indifference regarding the concept of Religion (that’s another blog); I wasn’t really looking forward to the trip to the temple.

Fortunately, I was agreeably surprised when we entered to find the temple premises somewhat less crowded. Either it was the time (10:30 in the morning.. just a few minutes after which the shrine would be closed for the morning) or, as my mother surmised, it was because of the full moon (‘Purnima’) the next day, which is considered to be an auspicious day (hence all the tourists would have postponed their day of pilgrimage to the next day). Whatever the reason was, we (more so my parents) were able to pray peacefully and see the idols clearly (without being nudged, shoved or pushed from all directions). I’m not religious in even the slightest sense of the word; however, standing there, with the atmosphere around – the slight chanting, the scent of incense sticks, the idols projected as the centre of spiritual power, the dim light, people bowing in reverence, people prostrating on the floor, the ancient smoothened rock tiles, the darkened walls, the coolness of the temple interiors, all came together to bring about a certain indescribable sense of contentment. Now, when I think about it, I cannot explain that momentary bliss. For quite some minutes after we walked out of the inner chamber, that feeling remained.

Anyway, feeling very lucky, we then walked around the premises, entering other temples containing the shrines of lesser gods (atleast in these parts). The place is huge; the Jagannath temple forming the epicenter of this huge enclosure of holiness. Some people were sitting, others were meditating, Pandas were showing their clients around; religion is a busy activity.

The Jagannath temple is protesting against the years of neglect and use; the walls are crumbling at some places, while at others, the delicate carvings are getting eroded. The carved walls are being restored by some masons working at one façade of the temple and an enforcement is being built on another side to support the weakening beams of the aging temple. Outside the temple, it is a busy marketplace, filled with an assorted variety of shops – small and big, selling sweets or souvenirs, flowers or clothes. After a light feast of some of the tastiest Rabri of the world, we returned to the beach.

Every afternoon, barring the third (when we went to Chilka), we remained at the hotel; the sultry heat proving a very effective deterrent for even the most enthusiastic tourists. Plus, the drowsiness that is induced after bathing in the sea is something that cannot be fought and can only be surrendered too. And so, each evening, after some refreshing hours of rest, where either one slept, or sat at the balcony, staring at the sea for hours at length, finally letting one’s eyelids droop, we walked along the extensive beach.

The evenings in Puri, especially at the beach, have a life of their own. From a distance, the beach looks like a house celebrating Diwali permanently; so many lights – concentrated at places while scattered at others. Lights of the recently constructed lampposts, extending to quite a length of the beach, lights of the temporary shops, lights of the lit yo-yos sold by the vendors, lights of the far away newly opened resort (at one end of the beach), and then when one looks at the sea, lights of ships (or fishing boats) far away, looking still in the water and yet moving, light of the moon in the sky – it is a dazzling array of lamps. All those lights emerge slowly, in an unintentional random sequence, as not wanting to cause a sudden glare to the eyes of the thousands of sea watchers…

First, as afternoon ends and the heat decreases, the sun starts its journey westwards, lower and lower; the blazing ball of fire, turning duller and duller. As one walks along the length of the beach, walking westwards, the entire time one can see the setting act; a gradual yet sudden event of the sun dipping into the extensive horizon. Usually (at least the day we were there), one can never see the sun actually touch the earth, because, at some point or the other, the clouds take over the western sky and engulf the saffron circle in their whiteness – creating a crimson hue all over the sky. At that time, the sea water turns yellowish, the reflections creating a breathtaking backdrop of shimmer and shine. The experience is wonderful, walking along the sands, waves almost lapping at your feet (especially when you’re trying to avoid getting your feet wet), the chilly breeze making you wish you had worn something warmer and finally the curtain act – the sun disappears into a golden haze, leaving splashes of red, orange, blue and white pieces here and there, and then finally darkness. If its a moonlit night (as we happened to be there during one)it gets even better… the tide grows higher, the moonlight creating silvery magic with the water – rays and fluid, shimmer and shine, stillness and motion; waves of white unfurling across kilometres and kilometres, almost at the same moment of time.

And then evening sets in; the beach which is already crowded becomes even more crowded. However, one doesn’t feel it, i.e. the crowds somehow do not suffocate the place. The sea, in its infinite generosity doesn’t tire of all the visitors, and continues inviting others; its large expanse doing much to dilute the concentration of its guests. One area of the beach, (slightly far from the beach overlooking our hotel) is the most crowded of places – the market area. Starting from the beach, the market extends out of it, into the narrow lanes of the permanent shops, where going forward, there rests a cremation ground, and then again, shops, hotels, a temple, mini restaurants, and sweetshops selling the local specialty ‘Khaja’ (a sweet made of flour, fried , and then immersed in sugar syrup), amongst other inconspicuous establishments.

On the beach, besides the many daily temporary stalls, selling miniature idols, images, posters, shells, decorative pieces, traditional Oriya handbags, conches, Yo-yos, toys, bedspreads, food, and what not, there are also mobile vendors, selling the same stuff, except, they don’t wait for you to approach them; they’ll approach you and advertise their wares. To see the innumerable vendors coming and marketing their stuff is a rather sad testament to the hardships faced by the locals. Most of the vendors are young – their ages ranging from 12 to 20, and the look of despair on their faces, after the ‘nth’ person says no to buying whatever s/he is selling, is a little hard to forget. And yet they persevere, walking relentlessly, person to person, along the sand, carrying their bag of idols or posters or shells. I don’t say they hardly sell anything, but how much can each sell per day, when every 5^th person is also selling the same thing? And after the tourist boom in the winter season, they need to find yet other alternative ways of employment.

During the tourist season, the beach seems to have almost as many sellers as there are prospective buyers (tourists); the numbers are saddening. I often wondered, sitting at the beach and staring at the cold waves, while one vendor after the other came to ask if I was interested in buying whatever it was he was selling, whether they sold enough per day so as to make a living. Considering that the cost of making the things seemed higher than the price at which they finally offered to sell them (after a session of quick bargaining where the price reduced to less than half the initial price), it seems very unlikely that they manage to make much profit, if at all. Every other person is selling something, even small children; one kid remains vividly imprinted on my memory. This kid went from person to person, trying to sell wicker strings for oil lamps, and, taking complete advantage of his innocent face, he beguiled several unsuspecting tourists into buying the stuff they knew they’d hardly ever use. My mother bought the stuff once, but when he came around a 2^nd time (obviously not remembering that he’d been here before), with his crestfallen face and angelic eyes, she understood that behind those downcast eyes, lay a very intelligent child, who had to sell wicker to make a living. I wonder if he went to school.

The only people on the Puri beach, who don’t bother tourists to buy, are perhaps the vendors of the small open-air tea stalls which are placed at regular intervals along the beach, just next to the water. A lone table, with a stove and a kettle, some bottles containing biscuits, that is the sum total of their offer. Several wooden benches and chairs placed around the table offer an unspoken invitation to walkers and sea gazers. Some come and sit for some time, but do not buy the tea, and yet nobody bothers them; most come and invariably have a cup of steaming tea or coffee, both of which are irresistible in the chilly air of the night.
It’s rather ironic, that the city of God, the blessed city where Jagannath resides, has so many people leading such difficult lives, unhelped, yet striving. Its as if the Gods have ignored the very people who have sheltered one of their (Gods) own in their midst, according him the highest respect and deepest reverence.

The one place that I saw during this trip, which I hadn’t seen before, was Chilka Lake. Last time, we’d taken the conducted tour of Konark, Bhubaneshwar etc. and so hadn’t gone to this place. Moreover, we’d been advised against it by people who had described Chilka as nothing more than a large lake and a boat in its midst. After going there this time, I cannot completely agree with the above statement. Chilka is a lake on which one goes in a boat (obviously), but it is not just that. It is a lake that merges with the Bay of Bengal, to form a strange combination of stillness and activity. The place is just about one and a half hours (by road) away from Puri, including a stop to visit a temple and breakfast. Chilka (area nearby the lake) is hardly more than a hamlet; except for a guest house or hotel of sorts, there is no sign of any tourism development.

As soon as we reached the place, we were whisked away to an engine-powered boat, complete with a shaded enclosure. The boat entered the lake and soon, all we could see around us was water. Water everywhere, in each direction, with nothing but a few other boats, some fishing paraphernalia, providing welcome relief from the silent monotony. In the heat of the late morning, even the boat trip became sleepy, especially when we kept on wading around in the water for about an hour. Within that hour, we were shown dolphins - or rather, signs of them; one tiny fin bouncing up and down, on the far right side of the boat, another to the left, were the only proof that dolphins did exist here, in the middle of nowhere. Finally, after the never-ending hour, we could see the other bank of the lake – except, it wasn’t a bank, it was a beach. A beach on a lake? Amazing.

As we neared the shore, the calmness of the lake changed slightly; little ripples breaking into its tranquil sleep. It was then that I saw – beyond the shore/beach/bank, there was the ocean; the lake pours into the ocean…or is it the other way around? It’s a breathtaking sight – the unique confluence of sea and lake, calm and restlessness, still and moving, how the lake gradually transitions into the sea, as if it is but a natural everyday phenomenon (well in these parts it is). That single stretch of sand which provides both the water bodies with space to merge their waters, is entirely uninhabited, and because of that, the place is naturally clean, the waters clear, unpolluted and totally untouched. Beautiful… and yet not famous. Or maybe because Chilka is not so well known, it still remains beautiful. After about an hour of walking, collecting sea shells, we headed back to our boat for the long trip to the other end of the lake. A lunch at a ‘restaurant’ on the first floor of an unfinished building, and the return journey back to Puri ended the trip to Chilka. Worth it, but only after one has already seen the other historical treasures of the state of Orissa. For us, the experience was something new and hence totally worth it.

Anyway, after that, another evening at the beach, with the glory of the full moon, another night of watching the single thread of white breaking from east to west, another day of sea bathing, and finally it was time to return back – to the hurry of the metro city, Kolkata. As we left the beach for the final time, I looked back at the roaring waves, and sighed – a sign of reluctant farewell.

One last thing I forgot to mention was the bizarre spectacle that had disturbed me for days after the trip. While we were there, there had floated into the beach, four live huge tortoises, at different stretches of the beach, on different days, struggling for life, trying to return to the comfort of the ocean. In all the instances, despite half hearted efforts by some fishermen, they had failed in their struggles and succumbed to whatever forces that had brought them to the unconquerable shore. There lifeless bodies lay there on the beach, a somewhat uncomfortable reminder of the fact that all was not this rosy in this place called Earth. Was this a sign of environmental disharmony or a sign of something else beyond our comprehension…who knows? I still wonder…

Random Encounters…

Random Encounters…

In the 1.5 years I’ve spent in Bangalore, I along with other acquaintances have had rather interesting/irritating encounters with the autorickshaw drivers of the city. Some days back was the last straw…yet another time we had a verbal fight with yet another such person. Suddenly I was telling my roomie that I could write a book on the experiences I’ve had with this breed of public transport employees. She said, well maybe not book, but a blog possibly….

So here’s an assorted list of random incidents which have taken place in Bangalore with unsuspecting people like me (now I’ve become street-smart literally).

1. Me and my roomie(#1) were coming back from MG road to Kormangala via Intermediate Ring Road, the auto breaks down and we stranded in the middle of nowhere. Our autowala very considerately (I’m not being sarcastic) stopped another auto and we gladly hopped in (leaving the poor guy stranded, with a broken auto). As we relapsed into our normal chitchat, it was about 5 minutes before we realized the meter had not been run. On asking, he very insolently said, ’30 rupees de dena’ [just give 30 rupees], (the actual fare is about 15, 20 at the maximum). We said, already wary of such incidents, ‘kis baat ka?’[for what] He said,’100, 200 nahi bola atleast’ [atleast I didn’t ask 100 or 200 bucks], and without speaking a word, turned back the auto in the same lane (yes on a one way lane) and said, ‘wapas chodke aata hun wahi pe’ [I’ll drop you back there]. By that time, we were also equally annoyed and said, ‘haan aap wahi karo’ [yes you do that]. And he starts on his way back, muttering to himself ‘pehle jao fir wapas chodke aao’[first I pick them up and then I have to drop them back]. At this, I said ‘kisne bola aapko chodneko? Yahin chod do.’ [Who told you to drop us back? Leave us here] (We were already worried because where our auto had broken down, there were no people on the road (except in cars) and the area had no lights/shops etc. (anyone been to Intermediate Ring Road will know). Thankfully, (realizing that he was losing money by going back), he stopped. We got off, stranded a little less to nowhere, with no autos in sight, having to walk all the way to the nearest populated area, Ejipura.

2. My roomie (#1) was coming from somewhere and got off at her destination, talking on the phone. She handed a 50 Rupees note to the autowala, and was supposed to get some 25 Rupees back I think. He gave some 15/20 Rupees less and started leaving. She counted the money, and on realizing the discrepancy, asked the guy who said something like ‘no change’, or ‘wrong calculation’. She got so pissed that she sat back in the auto and demanded to go to the police station. He started giving the money, but she was not mollified; she just wanted to go to the police. Finally, after some time of heated exchange, she acquiesced and got off. (Admittedly, they guy could have made a genuine error, but with so many precedents, it’s a little difficult to digest.)

3. Me and my roomie (#2) were coming from Forum to home (hardly 3 Kms away) at about 9pm. We asked about 5-6 autos; all demanded ridiculously large amounts (double/more than that). Finally, when the 7^th autowala demanded the same amount, I lost it and said ‘kis baat ka’? [for what] Pat came the usual reply ‘return nahi milta’ [Don’t get a return passenger]. I said something like I’ll tell the police /complain, when the guy said, daring me, ‘kar lo complain, this is my number plate.’ I got so annoyed that had I had the phone number of the local auto helpline/police, I would have called there and then. I had even memorized the number plate for some time after that. It was that day that I finally added the helpline number in my phonebook.

4. Me alone, coming back from CAT exam (Inspired by a Tête-à-Tête) the only experience which was pleasant.

5. Me and my roomie (#1), reached M.G Road, and handed the driver a 50 rupee note (the bill was 49). He pocketed the note, and without a word, started the engine. We asked about the 1 rupee (I know I know it was just 1 rupee), he said without even checking, ‘nahi hai’ [no change]. We got so annoyed by his insolent attitude that I asked him to return to the note; I’d give him the change. Then, between me and roomie, we coughed up the change – 4 10 rupee notes and 9 1 rupee coins (if I remember correctly). He took the money, his face an expression of dismay mixed with amusement at our cheapness (I always maintain it’s a matter of principle).

6. Me and a friend returning from Garuda mall at about 9:45 pm; as we came out of the mall and neared the group of autowalas,(who stand there like vultures, waiting for their prey), I predicted to my friend, ‘they’ll start with 100’. And I was right; the moment an autowala said ‘100’, my friend and I started laughing. He (autowala) looked at me and said ‘kitna mein jayega?’ [In how much will you go?], I said ‘nahi jana….aap khud hi jao’ [I don’t want to go…you can go]. Then another one started at 80, finally we went at 60.

7. Me and my roomies were coming from Garuda, again same case, the moment he said the rate, we started laughing, and seeing our sudden laugh, and the autowala’s flustered face, adjoining autowala started laughing, finally one said 60 , but we wanted go by 1.5 meter only. Turns out, by 1.5, the price came to 70, we felt so foolish. It’s not that we didn’t how much it cost. Just that in Bangalore, the auto meters have all kinds of adjustments done, designed to get the autowala the desired fare. The passengers might think themselves lucky to get an autowala agree to go by meter, only to be later shocked by the unusually high fare.

8. Me and my roomie (#1) were going to Forum from our home, and as usual all the autowalas (standing in a cluster) started asking obscene rates, when another guy arrived and asked for the same place. Seeing us ask, he offered to club together, we agreed. The autowala took an alternative route (via NGV which was fine by us (i.e. my roomie and I)). The other guy wanted to get off at someplace near JNC (Jyoti Nivas College) so obviously the route was wrong for him. He kept saying ‘sukh sagar se chalo… ‘[go via sukh sagar], but the autowala kept mumbling something about traffic and went on the same route. Our co-passenger’s anger was apparently rising, and he started shouting, ‘what do you think of yourself. We are giving you money, go in the route we tell you.’ Obviously, the autowala got angry and stopped the auto at the side of a road. Both came out and were near about in fisticuffs, while we two sat there, mouths agape. I don’t remember how, but somehow the guy cooled and got off there, even giving the shared money. We heaved a sigh of relief.

9. It was a bright sunny Saturday during our initial days in Bangalore; we had to go to this place called Vijaynagar (atleast that’s what we thought at that time) for a gas connection. The first auto we got, we asked him, and he agreed immediately. Being the foolish naïve girls we were at that time, we hadn’t even bothered to ask about atleast an idea of what the location of that area was. All we had was a gas agency’s number and the name of the area. We asked the autowala if he knew the gas agency in that area. He answered, very confidently, in the affirmative. As we started, we crossed Jayanagar, J.P.Nagar, Banashankari, and we started wondering whether we were headed the right direction. In fact my roomie very intelligently wondered aloud’ why would a gas agency be located so far?’ Surely a branch would be located nearer, like in the actual city?’ We again asked the autowala if he knew where he was going. Again he asserted that he knew. Slowly the meter crossed 70-80-90… at 99 he reset the meter and now we were totally confused as where we were going. Then we reached Vijaynagar area and were atleast happy that we’d reached the area we were looking for. After a lot of inquiring, we finally reached the gas agency. Aware of the distance from the main city, we asked the autowala if he’d wait. He agreed (it had been his lucky day).We were already doubtful if we were in the right place; on enquiring about the person we were supposed to meet, we met a blank. They didn’t know. We called up whoever had given us the directions; turns out she had said ‘Viveknagar’ – an area just 3-4 kilometres away from home. Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhh… With tired faces, we started our journey back. At the end of our uneventful road trip, our pockets were lighter by about 300 bucks, while the autowala left with a very satisfied wallet. Actually, this incident is actually more about the folly that we committed in our ignorance and not so much about autowalas. So what? Now I can proudly claim to know about Vijaynagar, and the gas agency there (not that anyone is asking, but still..)

Besides these incidents, there would have been several others..

Some have skipped my memory,

Some are too winded to jot down...

A few more things (this time positive) about autowalas which makes me realize that not all of them are bad; some honest workers also drive in the streets...just that we don’t happen to be their fortunate passengers too often..

Autowalas who agree by meter are, invariably, the ones who have change, down to a single rupee.

And if they don’t, they hunt her and there until they finally return the change.

As I sit here writing all this…. I try to think of some more positive things about the autowalas of Bangalore. Unfortunately I’m unable to come up with any more...

It’s a sad fact I guess...

Let’s leave it at that…

Food for thought: - Have you ever wondered why the Blood group field in the Autodriver-identification printout stuck in the interior of each auto, is empty?

Of End Semesters, Everlasting Memories, and Engineering...

Computer Science & Engineering – Batch of 2001-2005, Institute undisclosed.
Sounds rather heavy right? Well if you meet any of those 90 odd people who were part of this batch, your perceptions would change absolutely.

Let’s start with the beginning….

Oct 5^th 2001 was the very first day of college. However as lady luck wanted, all the people included in the above title were not in the same class… they’d all been divided; some were in other batch classes (IT). None of them knew what was going to happen to them in the next 4 years, life was looking rather bleak, what with the dirty white uniform that they all had to put on every single day for the initial 15-20 days. Anyway 1^st year came and went - the college Freshers happened, the Group Freshers happened and life was looking promising, especially with new batch of ‘bakras’ (oops ! freshers) coming to replace our sorry places..

Come 2^nd year and the batch finally was in the same place, some new faces, others somewhat familiar. In fact most people were familiar with each other, having been in the same class for the past one year, getting bored, feeling sleepy yet wide awake(fearing the onslaught of chalk pieces from a rather restless teacher), sitting in the tutorial classes ( a rather inhuman method of student torture, where childlike innocent students were made to sit in tiny seemingly airless rooms, and continuously asked to solve questions which seemed like Greek to most of the students) totally clueless about the question asked, yet very diligently looking at the blank pages of the tutorial copy, looking at the watch or, if one was lucky, the tutorial copy of the ‘smarter’ person next who was furiously writing the answers as if he was born to rule the harsh tutorial world. Anyway, much of the 3^rd semester was spent introducing themselves to the freshers so that they could ‘guide’ them in the hard years ahead, measuring up the unknown faces in the class, surviving NS (Networks & Systems) tutorials (the classes were no problem, as there it was not a pre-requisite to listen), and last but obviously not the least, passing all the subjects without any red marks. Some succeeded, some didn’t. At that time, those red marks seemed like the world was ending, now, fortunately, I suppose they hardly count.

Anyway, as the time flowed, they all started to know about each other; things like who was usually topping the class, who was more interested in the locations of other branches, who’s name was unpronounceable because of the lack of vowels, who sat in the 1^st bench just so he could make a video of the teacher interacting with the class, who made copious notes, became common knowledge. Education-wise, not many people were looking to actually top the class; people just wanted to get the semesters over with, scraping through somehow. For the first 3 semesters, there was never a stolid topper – who was the unbeatable. People very generously shared the position one semester after another.

Come 4^th semester, and the scenario changed. Besides having no tutorials (something which all the other branches envied), there emerged in the scheme of things, a rather tall lanky guy who hadn’t really been noticed before. He seemed to be scoring high scores everywhere, getting the teacher’s praises too. Leaving a few, others were hardly bothered. Let the high scorers be. The rest grappled with the classes and tests, especially in the Data Structures environment. Quite understandably, the subject was totally incomprehensible. The teacher would give the batch assignments (some weird problems to solve which involved writing programs) to complete, submission by some date. Most assignment sheets would go unopened, unread and ignored; most of them would do nothing about it. A few would maybe open it , read it ‘n’ number of times and decide to go watch a movie in somebody else’s room, finally some 9-10 (even that is a big number) would finally complete it, on their own. These 9-10 people were the saviours of the entire batch of the C.S; everybody else copied from them obviously. Unite and share – that was their motto. It wouldn’t reflect well on the class if a few people submitted and others didn’t it, would it? So, by the last day, everyone owned an assignment – albeit copied, but one nonetheless. The professor knew it, but poor guy, what could he do? Although he had an idea as to who were the original authors, he could never disregard the others; and he was way too nice to take a viva or ask each one the logic of the programs s/he supposedly wrote.

And that was that. Unite and Share became their motto for the rest of their engineering education. Maybe that was the best education they got in that class. Fourth semester came and went, and there emerged an all time topper – the tall lanky guy, his fundamentals were way too clear, although his handwriting wasn’t and still isn’t. He did it all so effortlessly, or so it seemed. Somehow, from the fifth semester onwards, for some unknown reason, the gods (lecturers!) became kind to this batch; the marks came much easier – passing a subject wasn’t all that hard. Either that or the subjects were less of Latin and more of simple spoken English or maybe the lecturers realized that if this batch was not given a standard amount of marks, none of them would qualify for the cut-offs in the coming year of campus placements. Whatever reason it was, the class was much happier.

Then, the clamour for the top rank lessened, except for 1-2 people maybe. Tall lanky guy was not bothered, not because of overconfidence, but because he really didn’t care whether he topped or not. After 2 years of groaning over classes, labs and boring subjects, the class seemed to loosen up. The annual fest was coming up, and many decided to participate. Many groups were formed – especially for this ramp competition ‘Spandan’ where one had to think up a theme and perform a fashion show according to it. Two major groups came up in CS– one, which was formed together with some guys of other braches with a unique theme of peace and violence, a whole lot of blood and gore. The other group selected a traditional theme of Colours.

Weeks were spent in bunking classes, planning the performance; however no real practice started until the last week. Classes were pretty much non-existent; the teachers had also loosened up and were not always very keen on taking classes. The few who did were coaxed to take attendance and then leave (The best kind of class ever!). And so, with Culrav, Athletic meet etc., 5^th semester disappeared.

The Computer science batch had lost all habits of attending regular classes – Forever. It was as though the Gods were also on their side; their schedule was such that they had afternoons off, sometimes whole days off. So while other branches plodded off to college every day, CS people cooled off in the hostels, playing AOE/watching movie/timepassing/sleeping planning what to do. Life had become a series of events, 90% of which were not even remotely related to education. The only things they did in most classes were holler, doodle, comment, look at the watch, look outside but almost never at the black/whiteboard. Some lecturers didn’t care (they just taught and left), some were tortured by their inattentiveness (like the guest lecturer who taught Management Information Systems, who used to get frustrated trying to control the class, but then he got another job at IIIT , and then he stopped bothering).

Speaking of this guest lecturer, his classes were one of a kind, he’d come in smiling and start reading something from some Xeroxed pages he had, irrespective of the number of people in the class listening. Actually, he didn’t have an option; nobody listened, except for a few who sat in the front benches, and nodded every 60 seconds, as if carefully understanding and noting each word spoken by the lecturer. The lecturer would also then, very gratefully, just look at them and explain, totally ignoring the antics of the rest of the class. Sometimes, (quite often actually) for no reason whatsoever he’d talk about how his wife was (is) a doctor. It was during those times only, when the entire class would come to attention. Initially, since he was a soft spoken guy, the class (which had metamorphosed into a rowdy, loud and mischievous bunch of school kids) wouldn’t even let him teach more than 10-15 minutes. After that time, all one could hear in the class was ‘Attendance! Attendance! Bas sir bas sir’. Then, at an attempt to teach a lesson, he would ask a question to one of them individual, who, if unable to answer (but inevitable) would have to remain standing. Behold the unity of the branch! After some time, the whole class would be standing, for the same question.

Surprisingly, however, in the end semester, their tortured teacher was very generous with the marks, probably because he was ecstatic that he was finally rid of the tyrannical batch. In the same semester, they were taught by another rather sweet teacher… well he was more of a senior actually; the first time he came to take the class, for a few minutes everyone was sure he’d lost his way or something, (maybe he was a junior) but then, when started introducing himself, ’Hi, I’m -----, I’m going to teach you FCC (Fundamentals of Computer C what??).By the way I myself am a 2003 pass out (‘Oh My God! he was just a year or 2 senior to us!!’ was the general thought floating among the students), and I know how it feels to be where you are, no interest at all in studies…but anyway I’m here to teach anyway’ (maybe not the exact words). That was a nice class… for a change, the batch decided to voluntarily listen, maybe not all of them, maybe not all the time, but atleast it looked like a class was actually going on and knowledge was actually being imparted. The friendly lecturer would be smiling, and being friendly, but he’d make sure that people dint take advantage of his congeniality; atleast he tried to make sure – he almost succeeded most of the time. The batch didn’t feel like going against him, mainly he was trying to very hard to make them actually learn.

That was a semester full of fun during classes (what with the number of unusual teachers they had), with the exception of some labs (Networking), where the one floor they were allotted was either Non-A.C (hot and humid) or a virtual part of the Arctic Circle. There were just some times (during the lab exams) that some of the batch started feeling a little pressure (those programs just didn’t make sense and never ever worked). Anyway, by the end of it, mostly everybody had mugged up the few programs, and all they worried about was the Viva. The rest of the semester was a breeze mostly…

Final year was the best year of all, for everyone…
The most important event of the final year – Placements started even before the beginning of classes…
Some got placed in the first company that came… some didn’t,
Some got rejected due to psychometry, some due to aptitude test, and some due to interviews…
Some deliberately messed up interviews,
Some deliberately tried to mess up the written tests (one going as far as to calculate the correct answer and then mark the wrong one.. all in the same sheet; obviously the recruiters saw through him and selected him anyway…such was the talent of their topper…yes the topper!)

The feeling that each felt after getting selected was indescribable – exhilarating, ecstatic. One who had already been selected had to really work hard to not jump around too much around people who were still waiting for the day. Slowly, the percentage of placed people increased and the joblessness of the batch decreased to previously unheard levels…

Absolutely free… with so much time even to attend the pre-placement talks with fellow batchees who were yet to make it, and waiting with them throughout the interviews and the results… supporting, hoping….The freedom that perpetuated the batch was addictive….one got so used to it (no wonder, once they joined the respective companies, they so missed college). That was the time when the rest of the branches got a small whiff of what the CS people were experiencing for the past 1.5 years. Zero lectures…zero tutorials…

Ironically, in the 7^th semester, the CS people were swamped with assignments and assignments and assignments; nothing to strain their mental capacities but their hands and pockets sure felt the strain. Hands –because of all the endless mindless copying from a Xerox of somebody else’s assignment, pockets – because of the Xeroxes of ‘n’ number of pages of books that they knew they’d never read…Assignment tracking, (find someone who’d done it), Xeroxing, copying, submitting, occupied a lot of time…. but that was about it. Classes were unheard of; the one lecture that was supposed to take place at 2pm in the afternoon got cancelled by the teacher himself at about 12pm - news about such cancellations spread faster than light itself.

And also, the final year project…5 people in a team, led by the first slotter (one of the top 18 ranked in the class), followed by the 2^nd, 3rd, 4^th and 5^th slotters (top 19-36, and so on), each team doing a project under a lecturer/professor of the CS department. At the end, as the batch finally realized, it all depended on who the guide was, and who was present at the project presentation - minor lecturer politics, personal prejudices, all had an effect on the grades of each of the 90 odd students. People hardly ever worked diligently for the project, except for the one week before each presentation, when many of the batch (mostly 1^st and 2^nd slotters) were seen with worried faces, hurrying about, trying to put up a presentable picture of the progress (which was usually zero) of the project. Sometimes, they succeeded, while sometimes, the examiners saw thru them. Presentations were customized according to the people who were going to see the presentation – one teacher was very serious about lines, bullets, colouring etc. For him, the students went to all pains to make the presentations colourful and well margined; he was the sole person due to which, during exams, assignments, the sale of the stationery shops around the institute, sky-rocketed.

It was in the midst of all these endless copies and presentations and so on, when the annual events like Culrav , J-Lal etc started coming up, that realization dawned on them; this was the last time they would experience these previously taken-for granted events. Nostalgia started creeping in into everybody’s hearts… some pretended that they were glad to be finally leaving the college, some said that at last the town was going to be left far behind.. yet none could help feeling a little glum – the life, the classes, the teachers, the friends, the hostels, the mess food , it was all going to change. And what a drastic change!

The cancelled classes started to take the form of something so elusive – they hoped that they had a class; atleast they’d get to go to the college…such extreme hopes were not the norm… just once in a while in the wee days of the year. Culrav brought some people to tears, suddenly, no one really wanted college to end… they no longer minded the endless lectures, the torrid heat, the end semester exams, everything seemed so much less annoying…

The final semester was the most Timepass as well as the most emotional semesters for this batch of Computer Science & Engineering batch. The assignments and presentations and assignments had ceased….it was all about treats and trip and farewells; those were the activities for them (and for the rest of branches too… but they had to contend with classes also).

A few were yet to get their job,
Some tried for 2^nd jobs,
Some got 2^nd jobs,
Some tried for 3^rd jobs,
Some got 3^rd jobs,
Some got calls from MBA colleges,
Some gave their GRE,
Some got through,
Some didn’t,
Most of the batch knew where they were headed after college….
Soon, the list of lasts started finishing, and with each farewell, the days of departure came nearer. Filling diaries and shooting photos became the order of the days…

Moods became somber, the last 4 years seemed so less a period, the pains of the place dimmed while small things started seeming to precious; the Chaat at the crossing, Maggi of Panditji’s canteen, the crossing trains, the dingy hostel room with the broken window (overlooking the main road where one would strain their eyes to recognize that girl from NGH who was going to the temple near by), the MP Hall steps, the tasteless mess food. Friends, who had been the support system at this place, were not necessarily going to be at the same place….the way of life was going to change; no more living on 100 rupees for the entire week, living on one’s pal’s bank account. Yet, that seemed so much better than working (did the batch even understand that word anymore?) in a new place, with new people.

The final semester exams were more like a sham…no one studied,, except the last few hours…with most of the people hooked on their PCs, watching the Culrav videos/photos, or chatting with their friends across the hostels, or playing AOE, or downloading a movie., or writing CDs, or orkutting…
Usually people wanted the exams to end as soon as possible. This time, nobody was in a hurry and yet the days flew, and finally it was the last day of exams (to be followed by the final project presentation a day or two later. After that final hurdle, many were leaving the next day; some were lingering on for a few more days, holding on to some trivial excuse.

Nobody was in a mood to study, and the subject (Data Mining) was one which had had no classes past the 1^st sessional exams; the main professor never came and instead sent a substitute who happened to get married in the early half of the semester. She never bothered to teach after that, the batch never bothered to bother; it was a tacit happy agreement. Nobody was even remotely prepared for the question paper that was handed to them that morning of the 2^nd/3^rd of may 2005. 100 marks paper with choice of attempting 10 questions of 10 marks each. The problem was, each question, even if anyone knew the method of solving it at all, would take approximately 30minutes and the paper was of two and a half hours duration. People were scribbling on their papers, the sorrows of leaving forgotten, toiling under the innumerable calculations and unanswered questions. Its ironic – the most carefree branch (closely running with IT) had to actually work hard on their final paper. Paper over, most were still in shock, hoping that the professor would be kind enough to just pass them, irrespective what they had doodled in the answer sheets. Once the worry was past, they realized that college semester exams were finally over – many would never have to give an examination ever again…

The project presentation kept everyone on their feet for the next 2 days, everyone running around to get the final printouts, hoping that everything went ahead without a glitch on D-day. The maximum requirement was that they passed – that was all they wanted; marks were irrelevant. The final presentation turned out to b an anticlimax of sorts; after so much anticipation and trepidation, the students were not harassed at all. Guess the examiners knew that at this point of time, nothing would be achieved by failing/harassing the students… it was better to just let them enjoy…After all, this was their final semester!

Then started the final goodbyes… the batch of 2005 was finally leaving the college.
As the trains, filled with students with all their luggage, left the station… the friends who had come to see them off kept waving, until they could no longer distinguish the faces waving back, tears obstructing their view……..

They came, they saw, they conquered, and the only impressions they took back with them were of Chums, Chats, Chaats, and Computers.

The longest 30 hours of my life and the Sea beyond..

Prologue/Disclaimer:

All the incidents depicted in the following piece are purely non-fictional, and so there’ll obviously be all kinds of places mentioned which are real and exist on the face of this planet. After writing the entire piece, on reading it, I realized that the piece is neither humorous, nor witty, and is in fact not more than a documentary, even though it’s a tad on the personal side. I have just described this amazing trip that I had this New Year, hour by hour. Why? I had no clue initially; I d while writing, I had gone on and on and on about seemingly mundane events which didn’t really have anything exclusiveness about them so as to make them special, in the everyday context of life. But at that time, when they were actually happening, they had the magical effect of seeming unique, memorable and insane at the same time. So basically this blog is all about nothing, but very meaningful to people who’d experienced. Had this been a book, seeing the endless descriptions that I’ve gone and on would have earned me critical acclaim, but for the regrettable fact that I’ve forgotten to include any heart wrenching tragedies of real life..(I’ve recently read ‘The Inheritance of Loss ‘, and all that the book has taught me is to never read booker prize winning novels..)

Anyways.. I’ll stop prattling…

2^nd January 2007 01:00 a.m: As we climbed the final flight of steps to our flat, myself and my roomie couldn’t help but panting, what with the big bag in our hands and the exhaustion of the last 3 days. The trip had finally come to an end, and we were back to our normal life again. While settling down, our aching limbs reminded us of the reason why we were so battered and tired – it was not the journey back (at least not the main reason) but the stop in between at Jog falls.

1^st January 2007 12:30p.m: The car had finally stopped at a small shop which served tea, biscuits, omelettes etc. Having started our journey at 9 am without having any proper food etc, everyone in the car was glad of the stop and walked around to stretch themselves. We were traveling in two cars - twelve people; four in a Tata Indica and eight in a Tata Sumo. The Sumo, where I was sitting was pretty cramped and so we really needed to get off. Plus, the journey until there had been totally hilly, and I, with my nausea, was wondering till when this terrain would continue. When we had been coming to this place, it had been pretty late at night, so the cars were being driven slowly, and I had had no idea that the roads were running around the hills. But now, I was heartily sick of all the hills. Anyway, after a breakfast of buns, omelettes, tea, soft drinks, and other assorted stuff, we were back on the road. A milestone indicated that we were just 2 kilometres away from Jog falls – the highest waterfalls in India.

Within minutes we were there. The view was majestic - 3-4 major drops of water from a height of approx 800 metres (I’m bad with distances, so I might be giving the wrong ones here). One could grasp the vertical length only after figuring out that the tiny drops of colour that could be seen far below among the rocks were actually people who had climbed down. Most of us wanted to go down too- I was no so sure. First of all it looked far- real far, and secondly I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to make the climb upwards. After a lot of useless discussions , I was coaxed into going down .Until the time we were halfway down, the lower I went, the more unsure I became as to whether I wanted to continue. The lazy character in me tried to pop-up a lot of times, but my friends pushed it right back each time.

As we climbed down, the view got bigger, the sounds became louder, and the walk became tougher. The steps that were initially created by stones were fine; gradual and sloping. It was while following others who were taking vertical shortcuts instead of taking the slightly longer gradual paths, that I was terrified – of falling, slipping, both, whatever. Then I decided not to take the shortcuts and went my own long way backed with a friend who was equally wary of falling or tripping. The trip down was covered in approx 35 minutes, with some time of rest and photo sessions. I managed to make it down there with a whole lot of help from my friends at slightly tricky places. At one place, there were a few rocks with water flowing in between which was very suitable for sitting with the water lapping at your feet. I, and a few other tired souls decided to call the trek to a halt and stopped there - some of my extra adventurous friends went further ahead. As we sat there, the view was awesome; white water flowing on and on…stopping nowhere. And in the process spraying drops in all directions. We were also sprinkled intermittently, depending on the wind direction. After the cooling off, we headed back, all the time dreading the long climb up.

And our fears weren’t unfounded. What a climb! Six of us started together…and even before reaching a quarter of the height, we were all gasping for breath, our faces looking monkey-ish because of the combined effect of the sun and the climbing. Hahaha! One of my pals was so tired that he was climbing on all fours…like a cat…thank god he didn’t slip. At regular intervals, there were small stalls with lime juice, water and soft drinks. Some of us stopped, some of us didn’t. I didn’t coz I knew that if I sat down I’d not be able to get up until after quite some time. We trudged on…. and on....and on…. amazingly our driver who had been far below when we started soon caught up with us. We were all panting, while he was smiling as if it was so easy. Anyway, soon people fell behind; we broke up into groups of 2. Some of us stopped, others (I) prodded on. The driver was also carrying on without stopping. Unlike our tired red faces, he had a wholesome grin of pure joy permanently stuck on his face. He didn’t know a scrap of Hindi except a few spare words, and I knew zilch of his mother tongue, Kannada. As we went on about our monumental task, I tried asking him in several signs and languages whether he had come here before. I have no idea whether he understood correctly, but he did utter the words '4^th time'. Maybe that explained his grin; he knew how it was and had already been there done that.

When we were some 150 metres away from Ground 0, people behind kept calling ‘aur kitna upar hai?’, [how much farther up is it?]. Each time, I’d look back and say ‘bas thoda sa hi hai…. jaldi jaldi aa jao’.[ Just a little more…come on quickly], I was lying, but I didn’t see the point of saddening their already exhausted faces by saying that there was still a loooong way to go. In fact when the driver and I had reached nearly, he was encouraging me in the same way. I nodded, too tired to say anything. The feeling that I got once I had finished the climb is indescribable, relief mixed with a tinge of kiddish pride that I was able to make it before the others, infinite deadness in the body mixed with the mental high of being able to climb all that. Anyway, I looked down and waited for a few more tortured souls to reach the heaven called level ground. After a quick lunch, we headed back to our long journey back to Bangalore, most of us sleepy, a combined effect of the physical exertion during our trekking endeavour, but mostly because of the madness and insomnia the night before.

31^st January 8:30 p.m:- As we climbed down the steps leading to the Om Beach, the entire view of the small beach struck us - totally unexpected and amazingly beautiful. Along the length of the beach, several groups of people had made their personal spaces, marking their boundaries with some kind of lights (what they were could not be made out from that distance). So from the distance, the beach looked studded with specks of golden glitter, with a larger gem within the encircled ornaments; the bonfire. This spectacle, along with the restless waves, the half-moonlit (or was it quarter?) sky and the million stars was absolutely fantastic. As we walked along the beach, we crossed several groups sitting around their bonfires – some singing, some chatting; one had a person strumming the guitar, some simply enjoying the experience. Despite the groups, the beach wasn’t as crowded as would have been expected on New Year’s Eve. Perhaps the obscurity of the place had helped keep its charm. People were there, but there was no halla-gulla, no chaos of crowds. As we neared our group, we were in for a surprise; inspite of the unavailability of stuff, they had created a very cozy ambience. A bonfire in the middle, with sand removed and piled up all around to create a circular elevated sitting space, bedspreads (some raided from the hotel) spread out along the circumference. And the best part was, from some where they’d managed to get candles, and then what they’d done was, cut up some plastic bottles, filled them with sand, and then put the candles into the sand. All around, many such ‘lamps’ were placed, and one was hung from a slanting pole (a long stick in this case), as if to indicate our territory - Gorgeous.

After dinner, we sat around, played Dumb Charades with all kinds of pathetically vulgar Hindi movie names (“Basanti ki Shaadi lekin gabber ka Suhaag Raat”, “Ghar mein ho Saali to Har din Diwali”), and the funniest part was that the 2 people who had actually seen these movie posters, were in rival teams. So when one gave such a movie, the other team couldn’t even deny/reject the name as the second person could vouch for it, however reluctantly. We started lighting fireworks every half an hour before midnight, so every half an hour, we’d all shout out the time, light a cracker and be happy. Soon people nearby us also started cheering.

Till about 11:55, we continued some play (it changed to truth or dare later) and then we were all simply counting down, according to our watches. Some other people had a new year a few minutes earlier than our estimation… the skies lighted up with fireworks… everyone cheered…soon we were also all wishing, hugging, cheering; what a start to the new year - the atmosphere was electric, yet peaceful. As a few of us went on the phone to wish our other near and dear ones a new year, what our friends did was, challenged a neighbour group with some kind of comment, and the result was that this group joined ours, and soon a full fledged Antakshari was on going. (It was more like general chorus singing of popular melodies actually, and not really a competition). A firangi came and sat down next to us for no reason, grinning; people walking around, heard the loud voices (noises?) and came to see what was going on. It was a party. This went on will about 2 a.m; all were in their very own utopia, some enjoying the sea, some the sky, some the fire, some even went and took a dip in the cold ocean.

Then, we could hear the strains of a siren somewhere far in the distance; no one paid any heed to it. However, that sound neared; we were still not bothered. And then suddenly, we saw some policemen chasing people out of the beach, saying ‘Go home, it’s late’ etc. etc. On looking clearly, we realized they wanted everyone out of the beach, ASAP. While we girls were a little apprehensive, somehow the police make people feel that way,( maybe it was the exaggerated vision of being herded into a police station) and wanted to leave. They guys started getting irritated by the police and their restraints and besides complaining, started doing weird stuff (as if in protest) - jumping across the fire, shouting, laughing loudly, but not making any move to leave. With some difficulty, we pulled a few of our friends and started towards the top, where the cars were parked.

Finally after we’d started walking the long distance to the top, the rest of our group also followed ( I guess the policemen had had their way). Some of us were reflecting, some laughing, wondering what the coming year would hold, when, on the very first day of the year, we were herded out of a public place by the police.

As we reached the hotel, a few of us (3 girls) started worrying about the return journey the next morning – we didn’t want to start too late as then we’d reach very late, so we told everyone to get up early in the morning so that we could leave by 8 at least. All eh guys were very skeptical – one saying, ‘main to utth jaunga…baaki sab nahi uthne wale. Hum 11 se pehle nikal hi nahi sakte’ [ill get up, the others aren’t going to get up. We won’t be able to leave before 11]. Then one of us said that we’ll wake everyone up; he dint think we’d be able to wake any of the guys, most of which were deep sleepers (read : sleepers who wouldn’t get up even if the sky was falling on their heads). Then, for a reason I can’t recall, started the arduous coaxing of one such guy to take a bath before sleeping itself (3:30 am), so that he wouldn’t take time in the morning. For half an hour he argued, we argued, and finally we had to step back. He announced us crazy and went to sleep. 6 am in the morning, one of us girls got up, used the bathroom, woke me, and went to the other room to wake the guys. That was one hilarious occasion; she kept on persistently banging on the door for about five minutes, until one very annoyed and sleepy guy opened the door. She went in, sat on the bed, threatening to sit there until he went to the bathroom. Half subconscious, he gave in, also promising to wake the others one by one after him. That way, finally we managed to leave Gokarna at 9:15 am, just about 1.25 hrs later than we’d planned. Thus started the first day of the year – a far cry from the last day of last year when everyone was doing nothing and yet enjoying, idling away the hours in the beaches of Gokarna.

31^st Dec’06 9 a.m: I woke up – a bright new day – our 2^nd day in Gokarna. As we were a group of twelve people, of which many had slept very late the night before, I knew that if we all decided to leave the place together, it wouldn’t be before 11-12 pm. So, a few of us who had woken, were fresh and didn’t want to spend their time wasting in the hotel room (which wasn’t even 1 % as good as the huts we had the day before) decided to walk to the nearby beach – Gokarna beach. Supposedly it wasn’t as good as Om beach where we’d gone the day before, but what the heck, it was nearer, so off we started, in search of breakfast on the way. As we walked across the town (I think village would be a better word), we crossed rows of shops where there hung colourful bags, some t-shirts, skirts, etc. etc. And the other most noticeable thing was the number of foreigners walking around – the first thing that we had noticed after coming to Gokarna the previous day. One could even say that the number of foreigner tourists were more than Indian. Some stayed in the huts on the beaches, others in hotels maybe, some seemed to be living like hippies.

We reached the beach and as usual, I walked into the water immediately, not drenching totally, just the feet. It was a much longer stretch of beach as opposed to Om, which was small, just the shape of OM, while it (Gokarna) was straight stretch of sand, no rocks. The sky was blue, the sky was shining, playing with the sunlight, the water was clear – it was a good day. After walking around, we had our breakfast in the same restaurant where we’d dined the previous night. We had to leave in a hurry as the rest of the people had by now woken up and were waiting for us at the hotel. Anyway, we went back and then left with the others, back to the other beach –Om.

That beach is about 6 kms away from Gokarna, and the road leading to it is narrow, meandering over mini mountains, offering a panoramic view of some of the less accessible beaches in between OM and Gokarna. They looked so isolated, maybe they were, or maybe they looked so because we were looking from so far. Anyway the beach looked no different than it had a day before – i.e. fantastically blue and glittering, with rocks providing another perspective to the beach view. After the breakfast (at a time nearing 12), and some more playing in the water, we headed to another beach – Paradise beach, via boat. Besides the 12 of us, some 3-4 people were also in the same boat, and I suppose they were very amused by the screams of some of our less courageous few (me included). Some were saying their prayers (“bacha lena bhagwaan”), some were just tossing from this side to the other (with the movement of the boat) and screaming (“abhi girenge”, “gaye aaj to gaye”, “Mummyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy”).

Anyway, once we were a little away from the shore, the boat was steady and we looked around to enjoy the view. The sun was high and hot, but the rays were creating their magic on the water below; miles and miles of golden sheen, moving around with the waves; on one side was the open Arabian Sea, on the other, slightly far away, was the rocky coastline. After about 20 minutes of treacherous sea travel, we reached Paradise beach, which was nothing but an even smaller beach, with even lesser people. There, because the beach was curved concavely, even where the waves just broke, the depth was more, hence none of us ventured too far. Some of us sat on some rocks at the shore, where the water was just lapping at our feet. Gradually, as the tide rose, the water level increased, and sitting at the same place, we were slowly drenched.

Lunch was the basic objective for most of us there, and a big lunch had been ordered. The five of us who had supposedly had breakfast at first decided to waive it. However, when the aroma of the food touched our nostrils, we tasted from here, tasted from there, and finally had as much as the others (if not more). After about 2 hours (3:30 or so), the boat came back and called us. Some of us went that way, while some adventurous few decided to trek back; about 4-5 kms, I think (again, I’m bad with distances) ) of rocky hills one after the another with no proper paths. On our way back, we were pretty sure that they’d quit and take a boat. We were mistaken – they did trek and in good time too. Supposedly the paths were ‘really dangerous’ and there was virtually no path, and they had taken great risks while trekking. Ahem…. Who knows?

The rest of us, after some jumping around in the slightly chilly sea, decided to head back to the hotel to change and come back for the evening ocean bash. As we took one of the cars and headed back, it was a little difficult to absorb the fact that we’d reached this heavenly place just one day before (well 2 a.m in the night counts as that day right?).

30^th December, 2 am: The surroundings were tranquil – not a sound, excepting some insects and the sound of the breeze perhaps, and our voices – which had just about ruined the stillness of the place. We were tired as hell and yet didn’t feel like resting.

Glancing all around us, we couldn’t believe the luck that we had had this far. Twelve people reaching a tourist place in the middle of the holiday season, at 1:30 am ,with no reservations, and only the assurance of a slightly overconfident (Vixxxxxx) pal who’d been to the place before, we’d actually found a place to stay. In fact, giving credit, our pal here had managed to find a set of very beautiful 3 one room cottages, set on the slope of a hill, with no civilization within hearing distance. Agreed, that it was just for the night and we’d have to check out by 5 pm the next day (that day), the rooms were for 6 people while we were 12, the hotel management were not providing anything except some bed sheets; so what – who provides rooms at such a small place at 1:30am in the morning? Plus the rent was 300 bucks per room and most people didn’t plan to sleep anyway. Most of them planned to head for the beach; I was not one of those voluntarily sleep-deprived, and decided to sit there and enjoy the view. Four of us decided to stay back while the rest went to the beach in 2 shifts in the Indica. As the drivers were resting, one of our group drove the Indica, dropping some passengers and returning for a second trip. While they were leaving, we four put out chairs in the balcony of one of the cottages, wrapped ourselves in assorted bed sheets, shawls etc. and sat back, feeling the cool air and talking softly among ourselves. Not that anybody could hear us, but somehow one didn’t quite feel like shattering the stillness of the surroundings.

Far away, we could see some silvery glitter and assumed that was the sea. Below our cottages, the hill descended into a small valley full of vegetation (what kind, we could not quite make out in the darkness). Soon, the brightness decreased; the moon was setting. It was an unearthly view – from stark white to off-white, to cream, to yellow, to dull orange, to dull red, and then finally darkness.

We were starving, and since there was nothing to eat except some soggy pieces of bread, a few tomatoes, a cucumber, and salt, the four (actually just 3, dear NG did not move from the bed) of us sliced and diced, and ate some very basic form of sandwiches with such a relish; its amazing how people stop being choosy when there are no options. At about 4am, after playing around with a laptop, we decided to call it quits and went off to our rooms.

I was supposed to be sleeping on the floor, as one of the girls could not sleep on the floor. My roomie was already fast asleep on the floor, wrapped in a hotel-provided bed spread. However, after 5 minutes, after having a few encounters with unknown insects, I shifted to the bed, deciding that when the other girls returned from the beach, I’d shift back. Turns out that was a smart thing I did because the others who had gone to the beach didn’t return until morning.
From what we heard the next morning, the other guys too had had a great time down at the beach - lighting a bonfire, et al.

Anyway, next morning, after the usual delays, we headed for the beach, where we had a gala time. The first view of the sea was mesmerizing to me (as usual); it had been almost a year since I’d visited a sea beach (last was Golden beach, Chennai). After taking in all the scenic view that the place provided, the rocks, the shape of the beach (OM), we had a rather heavy breakfast at a beach café – all kinds of breakfasts were ordered, mashed potatoes, omelettes – everyone was starving which was natural considering the last proper meal we had had was lunch the previous day. After the very sumptuous meal, we went into the water. Soon, we were playing all kinds of silly games like Catch the Ball, and the most common game of all (Antakshari).

Ten of us had come to the beach, as two others were so heavily in sleep that they hadn’t woken up and were still dozing in the cottages. On calling repeatedly, either the network was down or they weren’t picking up. So, some of us went back to wake them from dreamland and bring them to the beach. That done, when we returned some others then went back to check out and search for some other accommodation. These few people went, found a hotel, took a bath and unintentionally slept off. The rest of us, after bathing all day, and seeing a magnificent sunset, headed back. Everyone was dead tired – water does that to you, and somehow we all managed to get back, shower and were ready (starving!) for dinner.

The guy who had been to the place before, made us walk a LOT and finally we reached this restaurant which was actually a room in someone’s house. It was an ingenuous establishment really. The main restaurant was in the rooftop of the house where a few benches, mattresses, tables and chairs had been spread to form sitting space. Some hanging colourful cloth lamps made the place look very exotic… bright coloured dim lights. On the way to the roof top, one had to cross the kitchen of the house/restaurant as well as the washing area, which indicated that it was a normal home, turned into a cash earner. Twelve of us went into the rooftop area and totally destroyed the silent sophisticated dining ambience that the foreigners/owner had created there. Shouting, moving chairs, asking for water etc. etc. etc. No wonder one Firangi lady was smiling all the time, and very cheerfully passed the menu to us when we were clamoring for more menus.

After dinner, where some trifling arguments and exchange of words took place for no relevant reason whatsoever (something to do with drinking water I think), we headed to the adjoining beach – Gokarna. As the time was about 11pm, hardly any people were there. We sat there, enjoying the magic of the white waves, unfurling into the dark waters at the shore. After some time, some of us headed back to the hotel, while others remained at the beach. These others reportedly were chased out of the beach by some night policemen who asked them ‘apna ghar nahi hai kya?’. Well some of these guys were so inebriated that they didn’t remember much the next morning. One guy remembered talking to his reflection in the mirror of the bathroom wall (back at the hotel) for about 5 minutes, thinking it was another guy and decided to sleep, attempting rather embarrassing unmentionable things to the person sleeping innocently next to him; I suppose he imagined the guy to be his dream babe. Hahaha… Anyway everybody slept like a log that night, compensating for the sleepless night the day before and the endless road trip before that. In fact, for most of us, the insomnia dated a night earlier than that.

28^th Dec 6pm: I was in a rather bad mood when I returned home from office. Every second person in office had some plan for New Year, and here was I, with no plan except…, no, no exception, no plan at all. As I reached home, my roomie was also in a similar morose mood. Anyhow, we cheered up at the prospect of meeting some college buddies who’d come to Bangalore all the way from Pune. They, along with some other college friends were all going to spend New Year at this place called Gokarna, some 500 kms from Bangalore. Trip had been completely planned from before, except the place. We two had not joined in because of some dependency of our 3^rd roomie. Just that day, finally the dependency was cleared, but that didn’t matter at this late hour; everything had been planned and nothing could be done. We were destined to spend the New Year at home.

Anyway when we met our friends, they had a 3^rd friend, with them, who incidentally also wanted to go for the trip, but like us realized that it was too late. When we heard that a 3^rd person was also there, we decided to try to tag along. Initially we’d thought they were leaving the next night, but later got to know that they were leaving early in the morning, barely 12 hours later. My roomie had a very important deliverable the next day at office, I had not informed anyone at office, and yet, we started with out nagging voices ‘humein bhi jaana hai, please kuch arrange karte hai na’ [we also want to go, please lets arrange something]. Then started the long decision on whether it was possible or not; a series of calculations to see how much cash difference would arise due to the hiring of a 2^nd vehicle, would each member of the trip agree, how everything would be managed. The accommodation arrangements in Gokarna were not a problem – because of the simple reason that there were no arrangements.

After a lot of calls (we’re the people raising the revenue of all the telecom giants), a car got arranged, from the same place where the first car was arranged. Interestingly, for the 2^nd car, the person on the phone gave all the details i.e. car number plate, driver phone number, driver name, ETA, etc. Once we got all that, our friends were in a frenzy for the guy hadn’t given them any details even though they had gone and booked the car personally, even giving an advance. Finally everything was arranged telephonically by 10:30pm after which we went home while the guys went to the transport office to confirm their own booking.

Once home, we called out parents wt the news of the sudden change of plans. Surprisingly, they were not at all surprised, inspite of the lateness of the plan. Then started the long night of packing (which hardly took half an hour), the anticipation of the trip, and nervousness as to whether the car would actually arrive the next morning. This went on till about 1:30 am, after which for some reason I took a bath, and finally went to sleep.

I have a strange problem; whenever I have to get up early (anytime before 8), I stay restless throughout the night, waking up and seeing the time very other hour so. The same thing happened that night, and so when I woke up at 5:45 (the car was slated to arrive at 6:30), I was already feeling tired. Come 6:30 – no car, 7:00 – still no sign of the car; on calling the driver, the number was unreachable, on calling the guys, their car had also not come, 7:30 – still no sign; we started wondering whether after all the planning we’d actually have to go to office, 8:00 – the guys called up to say that the cars would be late and we should have some breakfast, 8:45 – we decided to give it another 15 minutes before we’d call up the guys to tell them to go and not wait for the 2^nd car (we were trying to sacrifice you see), 8:55: I had just picked up my phone to call them when the call came asking us to come down with our bag(s). We were ecstatic! The trip was finally happening..! We were finally going!

Then started the loooong trip; Four of us in the Indica, eight others cramped in the Sumo. It took us just about 2 hours to get out of Bangalore, the traffic at its peak hour. I tried to sleep, but this one guy (who had also joined at the last minute) kept on talking. He’s a very talkative person (we realized too late).Then we lost the other car; a lot of inter-car phone calls later, we re-united, with a stop in between where some sunglasses and bandanas were bought. With my perennial habit of drinking more water, we had to make a LOT of stops on the way. Besides that too, we made several stops, to change passengers, to get food from the other car, to get cassettes from the car (2 lousy cassettes of Ghazals and instrumental). Come lunch, and another long stop at a roadside restaurant, where the only available food was Daal and Naan. We ate like we’d never eaten before – naans disappearing faster than one could say ‘naan’.

Post lunch, we started getting a little worried; we’d barely covered any distance, just about a quarter. As the journey continued, we tried stopping less, but with 12 people in 2 cars, that’s a difficult task. Once I was awakened from my sweet sleep, for a photo session in the middle of nowhere. As noon turned to evening, the energy levels went down and everyone just wanted to reach. But, we were a long, long, long way off. We were also debating as to whether we should stop at Jog Falls or not (as it fell on our way and we were sure that we’d not be able to make on our way back). While this decision was still pending, evening set in and we crossed some of the most quiet and picturesque forests… one single road leading on and on with nothing but trees on both sides – no sign of civilization except one or 2 cars going in the opposite direction after long intervals. It was so tranquil that we just went on in silence, even the music was not so loud…After some time on one side, we could see the sun, glowing a fierce orange slowly giving into dusk.

At one stop, when it was about 7:30 pm and we were more than 4 hours away, it was finally decided that we’d not stop at the falls. As we went along, the terrain changed to a hilly region; roads became narrower, up and down, curves to the right, curves to the left, u-turns to a lower level, the darkness crept in, and with no lights on the roads, it was indeed a sobering part of the journey; everybody was tired, and yet nobody was able to sleep. As we went along the roads, we saw nothing except the light caused by the headlights ahead, nothing on the left or on the right except the dark looming shades of grey, and the occasional milestones. It was getting increasingly eerie. I, at least was glad that we were traveling in two cars, and had the comfort of knowing that we were 14 of us together in the middle of nowhere. All kinds of stories about people who were stranded in the forest because of car breakdowns started coming to me. The trees, which had been such majestic and beautiful during the day, had mutated into huge shapeless things, with arms and legs flailing all about; the only non-scary visual was that of the sky; the stars above were clear , as if reassuring me that all was well.

Sometimes, the other car would go ahead, and we’d be rushing ahead to catch up, as if it was the only support we had. Anyway, after some time we reached some human civilization – a few lights here and there, a kind of check post. Two roads were leading from there – I have no idea what consultation went on, and finally we took left. As we went on an on, the path seemed to lead into nowhere…a dark road with small houses on one side and trees/bushes/darkness on the other side. After travelling for about 10-15 minutes down that road, doubt started creeping in, and on seeing a truck coming from the opposite direction, we sighed in relief and instructed the driver to ask our whereabouts. Turns out we were on the wrong road…we had had to turn right at the other check post. Worse, the road was so narrow that there was hardly any space to turn; with impressive skill, the drivers maneuvered the cars back towards the way we came from.

After that incident, we went pretty cautiously, taking care at any road with multiple options. The drivers were also very tired and sleepy; our driver (the guy who had climbed up and down Jog falls so happily) was trying very hard to concentrate on the road and not fall asleep. At one point of time, he suddenly put on LOUD Kannada music – and we didn’t ask him to lower the volume because we knew that the music was a deterrent to his falling asleep.

Suddenly, the Sumo stopped in front of us. Two of the guys came out and coaxed us to agree to go to Jog Falls; ‘it’s a moonlit night, mast mausam ho raha hai, chalte hai na’. I knew they would eventually convince us, as already the 8 people must have been convinced. So wasting no time we gave in. As we entered the road leading to the falls, again there was nothing much around us (it was a 2km diversion from our road).When we reached there, besides us, and some shops which were open (for whom I have no idea) there were no other people around – goes to show the sanity level of our group. We could see zilch but for a dark opaque piece of land in front of us, the open moonlight sky overhead, and a narrow whitish thread of water slithering down the steep descent far across . The one thing that was crystal clear was the sound; gushing water, falling on and on and on, with no respite. Some over-enthusiastic members of our trip had the adventurous idea of going down a little farther to get a better view. How some of the saner tired people convinced them that now was not the time is a mystery (I tried a little and then gave up as there was a high risk of my BP going over the top); it was an award wining achievement.

Finally, after that, besides the one stop for dinner (which very few people had), and waiting for either of the cars to follow behind (some very smart people in the other cab would instruct us to follow them, and then would speed up and leave us behind and then, to top it all, ask us the reason why we were not following them) and the occasional directional confusion, we were finally there – Gokarna. As we crossed a kind of a check-in gate, (it was about 12am I think), there was some kind of village function going on, all the village folks seemed to be there, some loud music was playing, (bhajans I think). We stopped there and some guys went along with the one guy who’d been here before, to a hotel which was further away. After about 15 minutes, they came back with another person (the hotel person we guessed) who led us to the 3 cottages set on the hill slope.

As we went into the cottages with our bags n stuff, I thought to myself, ‘we’re really here, for real – the trip’s just started’.

And what a trip!

Epilogue: Some incidents have been omitted because of the secretive nature of the dealings. (The people who had sat in the Indica on our way there would know some….); Also,
The girl at Paradise beach and the controversial photo
The romantic couple walking hand in hand at the beach – the start of a beautiful relationship
The incident that happened that night at the hotel (Ksheer….the victim)
The castle of sand (?) at that night at Gokarna beach..

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Inspired by a Tête-à-tête...

Now that the CAT results are out, and as expected I didn’t make it, I can safely publish this post; an experience 2 months old which I’ve been wanting to share.

If you look at it… it’s not actually an experience… not even an incident ...an encounter maybe… Naah you can’t even call it that… lets call it a conversation.

Anyway, one cloudy, rather gloomy Sunday morning, I awoke at the unearthly hour of 7:45 am ….to go give the Common Admission Test which I seem to have made an annual ritual…

What followed, i.e. the one hour of waiting alone amongst the throng of other candidates, the two and a half hours of sitting and marking some answers, making rather unintelligent guesses, is now irrelevant …[it wasn’t irrelevant then.. but now .. I obviously feel that way]…

Well, after the exam, as I was leaving, after cursing myself, the stupidity into which I had converted my answer sheet, I finally found a friendly face. I caught up with that friend and after generally commenting on the past 3 hrs, left the test centre on his bike.

As his route diverged from mine at one point, he dropped me there.

As I was looking for an auto rickshaw, I was feeling pretty idiotic… messing up such an easy paper [comparatively].

When I was in such a state of mind, partially aware of my surroundings, self involved in my apparent dumbness, an auto stopped next to me and the autowala [auto driver] asked where I was headed to…For a neater post, lets call him X.

I answered, mildly surprised, as already there was a girl inside the auto. X said ‘hop on’ obviously not those words exactly, but anyway I got into the cab.

Having fought with ‘n’ autowalas over their high rates at normal hours, asking obscene amounts for small distances, etc, I was immediately wary of what was going on.

I asked the girl if she was headed to the same place as I was. She answered in the negative and named a place which is about 1 km out of way of my place. She also got confused as to how X was getting 2 customers at the same time. Quite naively, she said that maybe we can share the charges. I didn’t say anything.

Obviously, X was not an angel who would be calling passengers for the good of them. He would, quite rightfully be looking out for his profit. I was quite fine with that and I knew that he’d not allow us to share the charge. As, going through the girl’s route and then going to my destination would cause an increase of a maximum of 10 bucks from the normal fare I would otherwise have paid, I was not really worried. At any time, I would have clarified with X there and then, asking him what his game was. That day, the frame of mind I was in at that time, I still can’t say whether I would have argued with X or not, if he’d asked more than what was his due.

I was in no mood to argue, feeling that, ‘let’s see what he asks for and then I’ll see’.

When the girl got off, she asked him ‘why should I pay all, she was also there..? [Not the exact words maybe, but the gist was that]. X smiled and said rather patronizingly as if teaching a lesson to a child, ‘Madam, but she did not come from as far as you did’. The girl was rather displeased but nevertheless, paid her fare and left.

X reset the meter and looked back at me and asked, ‘Madam, what is the normal fare to your place from the place you got into the auto?’ I answered rather vaguely [but truly] that a different route is usually taken which costs less than the route taken. I guess X decided to make the best of the situation and, to gain at least a little, he said ‘Ok madam, paanch rupya zyada de dena, ‘[give 5 rupees extra]’. That was just about the actual fare from that place. So I agreed without any hesitation. I was a little amazed by X’s method - take a fare while you already have a passenger and then drop passenger 1 and go to passenger 2’s destination … and so on..

As I was not in a very good mood, peaceful maybe, which is the norm after every exam, I didn’t delve too much into the issue. The place the girl had gotten off at was a little distance ahead of a famous college which was a large centre for the CAT. As we went ahead, hoards of candidates thronged the streets, heading towards a mall nearby. Following this scene was a very interesting conversation I had with X…By the way, X spoke broken Hindi, so any weird tenses, gender errors or plural mistakes - not my fault..

X: Itna saara log kahan se aa raha ha hai aaj? [From where are all these people coming today?]

Me: Aaj exam tha na Christ college mein [There was an exam at Christ college today]

X: Bas Christ college mein tha? [The exam was held only at Christ College?]

M: Nahi aur colleges mein bhi tha… [No, it was held at other colleges too…]

X: Ek hi exam? [Same exam?]

M: Haan [Yes]

X: Ek hi exam ke liye? Ek hi baar hota hai? [For the same exam? Is it held only once?]

M: Haan ek hi din poora India mein hota hai [Yes, it is held on the same day all over India]

X: Kya exam hota hai? [What exam is it?]

I was a little perplexed regarding the question, as to what I should say, what is his awareness regarding all this. He made my perplexity vanish by reducing the question to the specifics.

X: Matlab kaunsa degree? [I mean which degree?]

Maybe he thought I hadn’t understood what he was saying.

M: MBA

X: Acha, aap bhi exam deke aa rahe ho? [Ok, so you too are coming after giving the exam?]

Inwardly sighing, again reminded about my paper, I said,

M: Haan [Yes]

X: Aap kya padte hai? [What do you study?]

M: Padta nahi, abhi exam diya [I don’t study, I just gave the exam]

X: Aap kya padte hai? (He asked again maybe thinking that I hadn’t heard him the first time)

M: Padta nahi, abhi exam diya [I answered the same]

I guess it was pretty incomprehensible to him that I was giving an exam even though I was not studying in a college.

X: Nahi matlab exam dene ke liye kahan padta hai [No, I mean for the exam where do you study?]

M: abhi padta nahi hai, bas exam diya. [I don’t study now, just gave the exam]

X: Aap kitna pada hai? [How much have u studied?]

I was not sure as to how to answer, now knowing whether he was familiar with classes, degrees etc.

X: Class?

M: Graduate kar liya [I have already graduated]

X: Acha kaisa hua aapka? Paper kaisa tha? Difficult? Kya percentage aayega? 70s? [Ok so how was your exam? How was the paper? Difficult? What percentage are you expecting? 70s?]

Remembering the rather disappointing paper that I had given, I replied,

M: Abhi malum nahi hai, answers check nahi kiya [I don’t know yet, haven’t checked the answers]

X: Fir bhi, kitna correct hoga aapko lagta hai? [But still, how many will be correct according to you?]

-- A question of whose answer I too was not sure.

M: Pata nahi chalta, jab tak check nahi karti [Can’t say until I don’t check the answers]

Now he was looking to be fully interested in the whole idea. Persistently he continued,

X: Kya kya subjects hota hai exam mein? [What subjects are there in the exam?]

I was not sure as to how to explain the concept of Data Interpretation to him, so I settled for saying,

M: Maths aur English [Mathematics and English]

X: Science nahi hota? [No Science?]

M: Nahi, no science [No, no science]

X: Woh pass hoga to kaunsa college mein jayega? [If you pass the exam, which college will you go to?]

M: Malum nahi, result pe depend karta hai… [I don’t know, depends on the result]

X: Ye padne ke baad kitna aayega income? [After you study this, how much income will you get?]

M: Depend karta hai kaunse college se padta hai [Depends on which college you study from]

X: Fir bhi, kuch idea? 30 thousand se zyada? [Even then, some idea? More than 30 thousand?]

Since that was pretty much plausible, I replied in the affirmative.

M: Haan [Yes]

X: Acha. Actually main bhi soch raha hoon ki main bhi kuch exam deke padu… main saath saal pehle BCom 1^st year tak pada.. [OK. Actually, I was also thinking that I give some exam. Seven years back I had studied till B.COM 1^st year]

So that explained his persistent questions. Intrigued, and agreeably surprised, I said,

M: Acha….fir aap abhi kar lo padai [OK, so you also start studying…]

X: Haan lekin abhi concentration nahi hota… abhi correspondence course kar raha hai lekin time nahi milta. [Yes but now I am not able to concentrate. I’m doing a correspondence course now but I don’t get time.]

I felt a little guilty comparing the opportunities I got and am still getting, and he, not getting anything yet striving to get himself educated. Left with nothing to say, I said somewhat quietly,

M: Acha [Ok]

X: Abhi soch raha hai bachhon ke saath baithke main bhi pad loon… [Now I’m thinking I’ll start sitting with my kids and with them, I’ll also study]

M: Haan aap wahi karo aur pad lo. [Yes you do that and study]

He just smiled...maybe already thinking of an action plan …

I looked around, and I had reached my destination.

Somewhat subdued, I got off, paid him, and said ‘Best of luck aapke padai ke liye’. [Best of luck for your studies.]

And that was the end of it.

I don’t know why but this slight conversation had worked wonders for my slightly self pitying disastrously foul mood. No doubt I was still sad about the mess that I had made, but I also realized that there are ‘N’ people out there who worked just ‘N’ times harder than me, and who due to circumstances could not make it. For many others, if they don’t get through they don’t have anything to fall back upon [people who dropped a year just to prepare]. Leaving the MBA aspirants, there are so many people who, perhaps much smarter than me, would love to study, educate themselves, but due to constraints, financial mostly, never got the opportunity.

Guess one should always be glad about what one’s got, no matter how less, because somewhere in the world, there will definitely be somebody who has lesser.

Bangalore Blues

The other day, actually come to think of it, quite some time ago, one fine evening, I was riding a bike with a friend , we were coming back from someplace I think, and we were nearby the Vidhan Soudha . The place was looking beautiful – well-maintained, well-kept, clean; quite unlike the rest of Bangalore.

For no reason I came to thinking… about Bangalore..

Before I came to this city last year, I was always fascinated with it. My brother had been in Mangalore for the past 4 years… and he used to come to Bangalore sometimes…
He’d always be saying, ‘we’re at Barista’, ‘we’re at a pub’ etc. and I’d always kind of yearn to experience all those new things. Having always been in small cities (or towns), i.e. Shillong, and then Allahabad, I’ve never tasted real city life for long. I’ve been to all the metros, but never long enough to feel its pulse. It was always a glimpse…a few days, that too not as a person belonging to that city, but as an outsider.

Bangalore gave me the first real taste of a metro. Unlike all the other metros, Bangalore is not as fast paced. It has a rhythm of its own. Not slow, yet not too fast. Not the hurry of Mumbai, where people rush to the local railways at 4am in the morning, and that is not a one-day thing – it’s day to day for them. I’ve actually seen this. First time I ever went to Mumbai (it was Bombay then), our train was delayed by some hours and we reached the Dadar station at 2am at night. For some reason, which I don’t recall now, we went by local train to Victoria Terminus (then). Even at 2 am, the trains had some people, its true maybe that the city never sleeps. At VT, everything was slightly quiet when we reached (2:30 am I guess). By 4 am, to our surprise, the station started getting crowded. People rushing to the trains, getting along with the day - amazing.
Anyway, having been the small town it was, (15 years back, maybe even lesser), it has retained some of that pace. One will hardly find people outside at 1 am or something. At least I don’t think so.

Now, with the majority of the IT industry being based here, more and more people are coming to this city, exhausting the infrastructure of this completely unprepared city. Now, people complain all the time of the crowds, the pollution, traffic, the list is never-ending. Nobody seems to want to stay here anymore. Yet, nobody seems to be leaving. Everyone will be cribbing, especially when stuck in an inexplicable traffic jam for more than an hour, and yet one will be thinking a million times before migrating to the other cities.
The weather is incredible – temperate climate throughout the year, hardly any heat and hardly any cold. Having stayed in Allahabad for 4 years, a place with extreme climate, I have experienced the worst of both worlds – walking to college in the scorching heat when the temperature is 45 degrees centigrade, for a class which was cancelled after we reached….one didn’t know whether to be happy that there’s no class or frustrated that we walked all the way, and our attendance wouldn’t count (for us, learning wasn’t relevant.. attendance was all that mattered), sitting in your room, wondering how it is that you can manage using your computer without having to leave the comfort of your warm bed, waking up at 9am and seeing nothing outside but white…for the uninitiated, that’s fog I’m talking about. Anyway coming back to the point, for me Bangalore was heaven when I came here; I came in August, when in Northern India, the heat is still on. Here, it was extremely pleasant, if not cool. Every evening, for about half an hour + 15 minutes, inevitably, it would rain. Evenings, you’d need a light jacket to be comfortable. That’s it. That was last year, this year its been slightly warmer, where unavailability of fans during March and April caused a little discomfort, and the cold never really set in until December (now)….

Now, like all other people who are not Bangalorean, I too perennially complain about the city, and its innumerable unresolved problems... and yet, I’m still here. For me, Bangalore has been an eye opener. Well, it’s no wonder that I crib about the city; this is the city to which I came to start my professional career, my first job. A life very distant from the easy carefree life back at college (I know I know I cant seem to get over the fact that college is over and those days are never going to come back), a far cry from having to worry about sessionals and semesters. The life is different, the activities are different, the worries are different, the friends are different, why blame the city?

Far away from home, managing to go back about twice a year - the low-cost flight airlines websites being one of the most visited sites in my internet history, complaining about the surrounding environment is but natural. And yet, when it comes to thinking about getting a transfer to another city, nearer to home, my mind thinks ‘n’ times and answers in the negative – stay here till shifting is unavoidable. My parents also prefer that I work here …why? Besides some stray incidents of mugging, robbery and murder, Bangalore is safer than most of the other big cities. Eve-teasing is uncommon, roads are safe. Yes, nightlife stops after 11-12 in the night… but so what, I never wander out at that time anyway. At least they’re not so worried when I’m unable to pick up their phone due to some reason. No riots, no bomb-blasts, no mobs. Yes there are the occasional terror threats, until now they have never materialized. I hope they never do.

For a person like me who doesn’t drink, and cannot dance, is too lazy to go trekking etc, and doesn’t have a very large friend circle to boast of, there’s nothing much to do in Bangalore. Except for the occasional movie, shopping, window shopping, mall-hopping (that too very much reduced now, because its just not worth it.. moving around in crowded spaces with seemingly no breathing space), I hardly ever do anything different. However, for people who love to do new things, see different things, there are the trekking trips, theatre, schools to teach everything – from piano to salsa, from painting to pottery, from cooking to driving… Then there are the sudden workshops, adventure sports camps, concerts, plenty of events to choose from. And if one is in the mood of traveling out into nature, there is no dearth of places to choose from. If you’re looking for big cities, all the major cities are overnight journeys from here- Hyderabad, Chennai, Mangalore, Pondicherry, Ooty, Kodaikanal etc. etc.

Since the time I’ve been here, I’ve also gone to some places, Munnar (a place in Kerala), Mysore, Ooty, and Kodaikanal. When I was small, id traveled down South a couple of times, At that time Chennai (Madras then) was the hub; we first went there, and from there traveled to several places, Pondicherry, Mysore, Trivandrum, Kanyakumari. At that time, Bangalore was nowhere on the map really, we did come here, but mainly to travel to Mysore from here.. It was a sleepy quiet town, with wide lanes, sparse traffic, nearly non-existent tourism, who could imagine that that town would become the nerve centre of the Indian IT business? At the amazing rate the city is expanding, who knows what the future holds for this Silicon City of India? Constructions everywhere, be it commercial or residential, be it plush apartments or malls, a concrete jungle is slowly enveloping the city.

From the terrace of our house here, I can see the expanse of plain land, covered with building of all shapes and sizes….beautiful houses I might add, here in Koramangala. In the midst of the endless concrete, some patches of green tend to provide relief to the eyes; a small park, some trees, someone’s well kept garden... I look skywards, and as I see yet another distant airplane coming into the city. It’s pretty awe-inspiring actually, the rate at which airplanes take-off and land in this city. Perhaps this is the only city where, wherever you go, if you look up, at some point, you are sure to see a plane flying in some direction; the current airport being right in the middle of the city. From our house terrace, within the space of minutes, one can see 2 airplanes flying in from the same direction, while planes are flying out in the opposite direction. It’s a nice pastime - standing out there in the evenings, looking at the planes, trying to guess the Airlines.

Some say Bangalore has lost its charm; the thousands coming here every year have inadvertently destroyed it. I am non-committal towards the statement for I might be counted as one of those. Despite all the negative opinions, I don’t think Bangalore is just another big noisy city. Agreed, its changed from what it was, some good changes, some bad, but then what hasn’t changed in so many years?
I, for one, know that when I leave this city, I’m sure going to miss it.

Excerpts of a Timeless Debate...

Following is an interesting exchange of mails I had with a very dear friend of mine, who is so different, and yet so familiar. He’s a very religious person, as opposed to my slightly godless approach towards life. We hardly ever talk about it, except in the earlier stages of our acquaintance when I used to be amazed by his piousness. Neither of us ever forced our individual views on the topic (religion) and neither did we ever argue over it. This conversation cannot be called an argument, merely a discussion of opinions. I was cleaning up my inbox, and I chanced across the last mail regarding this discussion, which had the entire history of mails below it. Decided it was an interesting mix of personal views and posted it…Besides just removing the short text we use for mailing, I’ve also left out the stuff not pertaining to the topic…so things might seem a little out of context in some places..

Aftab (hereafter mentioned as ‘A’):
I know u don’t fancy religion, but I want to tell u something... you have to face up to certain things in life...
You can’t just keep ignoring it just because it seems confusing or whatever at the outset...
I know there are many things to do in this life here on earth...but have u ever pondered, is this the ultimate aim?
Is it just getting that degree, getting a job, enjoying stuff etc.,
Yes, I accept, that all that is needed but that is a part of life, not life in itself...but that’s what most have made it out to be... tell me, look at the world around you, you see all kinds of people, you see rich people, you see poor people, you see disabled people, you see the most beautiful people, you see ugly people...is that just...
what I mean to say is, a disabled guy has to face up to his/her disability all thru their lives & live with it but one who is hale & hearty leads a much more comfortable life...but why? What is it that the disabled guy did to deserve it? He was just born into this world that way...its no fault of his...have you pondered why this is so...
I know u can look away & forget it because it has nothing to do with u...but there are signs in all of this for us, it is upto you to understand it....

I:
Hmmmmm....see that’s your outlook..... you think that one should ponder into the deeper meaning of life and its endless mysteries...But see I don’t think one can ever get the answer to his questions of the Whys, Hows and Whens , when it comes to life....
I feel these are things that are there - maybe not at as meaningless coincidence of events... but something above and beyond us.
I don’t mean the scientific details... the Big Bang and the chemistry of life.... that is something that can be understood after research and all (i.e. it’s more about the WAY it works.. rather than WHY it works..)..
Do you think all the pondering can answer the fundamental question - why were we born..? How did an assorted list of chemicals suddenly decide to merge together and create an entity of its own?
These questions can be taken in a scientific approach as well as a philosophical approach.... via science one can at least find out how... but never why.
But see.... some things are meant to be left untouched... you cant ponder about all these questions and expect an answer.
Religion is a way of giving explanation to these questions - answer all questions with the assumption of a single all powerful entity who created the world and everything within it....
Maybe so, because it is virtually impossible to imagine that the entire universe was an accident of molecules....
Then again...maybe not…
And even if the answer is Yes, I don’t think the Almighty is really looking for someone to find proof of his existence.
He's out there... having created everything, maybe observing the fruits of his effort, but I don’t think I want to ponder about all his mysterious ways while I have the opportunity of living them...anyway nothing is to come from the endless questions. At least not philosophically; scientifically maybe so but then science will never be able to answer the WHY.
And I think maybe the WHY is answerable only after the cause of WHY (life) is over... maybe that’s why there is a concept of heaven...

Anyway maybe I’m talking a little off course from what you were saying…. all I’m saying is...you cant expect everything around you to be explainable.... and no amount of thinking or pondering is ever going to make these things understandable….like what you were saying - why are some people suffering while others aren’t, why some are beautiful and some aren’t....all these questions are entwined into one vast tapestry ....simply meant to be experienced.. not meant to be understood. Maybe because we're too little within that tapestry to be significant enough to have some answers...
Maybe that’s how he made it. Now its a matter of choice, whether one still want s to delve into all the endless questions…. searching... hoping for a satisfactory answer..
Or, taking life as it comes... questioning…but accepting that some things (a lot) are beyond our comprehension...and will always remain so...
If one is lucky, s/he will find their answers in the smaller things of life - be it a flower, a child, the sea, religion, anything at all...
Others...maybe they prefer to close their eyes to the infinity of questions and open themselves to their finite self....
Maybe the journey of life is at the end, the answer to the question of life...

That’s how I feel...so while u tend to question and ponder, I tend to ignore and accept.... that’s why we're different., but that’s also why we understand each other .

A:
I agree with u partly & disagree on certain other things which you’ve written...
I agree with your points where you say science can max answer how & can never answer why. I agree with you where you say certain things are above & beyond us & are better left untouched, we being weak & small when compared to this amazing creation called the universe...
But I disagree with what you consider above & beyond...when u have answers to certain things present , one should not consider that above & beyond. Questions like why is the sky blue, why couldn’t it have been yellow are above & beyond questions but at the same time questions whose answers will serve no purpose..
So, one should question (this is my opinion), things which serve a purpose in one's life & whose answers help the person to better comprehend the happenings around him - things which give meaning to his life; otherwise, all the events which happen around him are just a series of events...attributed to good luck, bad luck or whatever other superstitious beliefs...

Regarding proof of the existence of an Almighty God, as you’ve said, this universe itself is sufficient proof...according to me, only a fool can consider this universe an accident, an accident of molecules joining together or whatever..
Regarding the outlook to have in life i.e. whether to remain ignorant or ponder, is definitely a matter of choice...no doubt about that...and for either choice made, the person in question is fully responsible... You said, "maybe the journey of life is at the end the answer to the question of life...”, the answer definitely will be got at the end...when we leave this world. The thing is, the answer shouldn’t be something which comes as a surprise...

So, that’s what I feel...

I:
I guess we'll always disagree in such topics…
See, what makes anyone the judge as to whether answers to questions like 'why is the sky blue and not yellow' will serve no purpose?? And what makes one sure that the answers to other questions will help the person better comprehend the happenings around her/him. As for what you said “the thing is, the answer shouldn’t be something which comes as a surprise...' --- that is something which nobody can ever find out before it happens.... no matter how many answers you assume to have got... the end is always going to be a surprise....

All the concepts of death, be it reincarnation, Judgement Day, Moksha, are all ideas, concepts, beliefs that everyone wants to believe. Yet nobody can ever be sure what happens and guess that’s the way it should be. After all, if all one's life one ponders about what will happen Afterwards, s/he's never going to experience the full potential of life because, all the time, the questions will be hovering....
As for thinking that 'only a fool can consider this universe an accident'... well that’s your perception... a person believing the contrary could also say the same about people believing in God....
As in..... a scientist might say that the existence of a single Almighty power which is responsible for all creation is scientifically impossible ....he can break down the entire magic of creation into stages, phases, numbers and equations..
Maybe he's wrong, then again…… maybe he's not..
As I said before….one will never know.
And this dissent of views is a universal debate..
Yes ... the percentage of believers is much, much, much more than that of the disbelievers….--
Doesn’t automatically make them the right ones...

Every concept/belief different from the general belief is usually discarded, and then after getting undeniable proofs, the crowd reluctantly accepts it. Then, slowly it becomes the norm..
I don’t think this is ever going to happen in the case of the Hows and Whys of the universe (but one never knows)....so you can't really discard the idea....
For example...one guy in the US thinks that life on earth was brought on by aliens (Eric Von Daniken - Chariots of the Gods)......and he gives consistent proof. By the end of the book, one wonders why the whole world does not know about these ideas....it’s the same thing.... different concept....reaction of unacceptability....
Anyway that was just an example.

A:
Yes, disagreeing is inevitable in such topics... The debate on this topic will go on & on in the world till the end for sure.. Agreed that being a majority doesn’t make the idea they carry right. Yes, nobody can find the answer before it happens i.e. death, it being a surprise or not, is dependent on what you believed would happen & what actually happens then. Regarding the universe, yes, again, the debate between the atheist & a believer will always be there till the end... Regarding, "every concept/belief different from the general belief is usually discarded ....." , this is very true right from the start of this world, where all prophets sent were despised by their own people...calling them mad, sorcerers etc...

Here ended our debate - a rather abrupt end maybe. As expected, nobody’s opinion was changed, which was but an inevitable and foregone conclusion.

The Mountains of Sohra..

Another beautiful experience...another place… (Maybe I should just call this whole blog my experiences with Nature… as all I seem to write about is its magic.

Anyway, this time it’s a place called Cherrapunjee. Yes, the place which holds the position for having the highest rainfall in the whole world. Actually, the position toggles between Cherrapunjee and a place in its vicinity, Mausynram and I’m not really sure which is currently occupying the top rank. Locally the place is called Sohra, from which the name Cherrapunjee had been derived years ago.

Anyway, since I’ve lived in Shillong which is just about one and a half hrs away from Cherrapunjee, I had been there previously.

People always ask me, ‘Is is always raining there?? Is it all wet and damp there’. And I always tell them that its not like that. I don’t think it has ever been. Until two years, it did rain plenty, but since then, even the rain has decreased. Little known to many people, Cherrapunjee is also known as a Wet Desert. It might be blessed with rain showers, but it is not able to retain the water.

The soil is of a rocky nature because of the presence of lime (I guess), extremely impervious to water. Also due to the heavy rain, the top soil is eroded and with it, so is the capacity to soak the water. You would see hills with no vegetation except a layer of grass and some bushes. No pine trees, or for that matter, trees of any kind. It might rain a lot, but all the water drains away, the soil not being able to soak it. Most of the time, there is an acute water shortage there. Strange isn’t it? But you have to see it to believe it.

Anyway, that day, we left in the morning, hoping to catch a sunny day there, because the last time I’d been there it had been a foggy trip. Because it was a large group we had had fun, but we were not really able to enjoy Mother Nature’s visual extravaganza. Fog had so engulfed the entire area that we had even had to slow down the car as visibility on the roads was extremely low.

Anyway, back to this trip – We were lucky regarding the weather. A clear blue sky with tiny patches of snow white promised a great day of sightseeing. The road to Cherrapunjee is, in itself, a treat for the eyes. For the first half, one comes across almost empty countryside with miles and miles of green interspersed with a few houses here and there. And the road is good (most of the time) - a smooth ride. Halfway through, the countryside is replaced by gorges and cliffs - a single road meandering across kilometers and kilometers of immediate nothingness on the left, and a single wall on the right. The view is breathtaking. On the left, just across the deep gorge is another mountain of almost the same height, which has a road which leads to the border town of Dawki. On the right, it’s not a cliff exactly, more like vertical hills with vegetation.

I usually get a little nauseous on such hilly trips, but this once I decided that I wasn’t going to miss any of the scenery and I’m glad I was able to keep my eyes open without feeling sick.

Our first destination in Cherrapunjee was not, as expected anything natural. It was the Ramakrishna Mission. Established in the earlier part of the century, this institution is a part of much larger organization which has centres all over the country (world even). Apart from the shrine dedicated to Sri Ramakrishna Paramhansa, it has a school complete with boarding facilities, workshops for Weaving, and other handicrafts, the whole atmosphere within the portals of the place is one of discipline and peace.

Next we headed for the Nohkalikai falls. There’s a rather morbid folk tale (which was told by my mother that evening after we’d returned home) associated with this majestic waterfalls. One can’t really judge the credibility or truth of the tale but I’ll share it nevertheless. Why should I be the only one grossed out by the story?

"Once upon a time a widow and her daughter lived in a small hut on the mountain from where the waterfall emerges. The one day, a man came into the life of the widow and she decided to re-marry. As in all such cases, the step-father disliked the daughter intensely and the mother was always worried about the safety of her daughter and so never left her side. One day, due to some urgent reason, the mother had to go to the village nearby. As her husband was not there at home that time, she decided it was safe to leave her daughter there and went away. After some hours, when she came back, she found that her husband had returned and was cooking. He seemed very happy. On looking around, she found her daughter missing and upon enquiring, he told that she had left to roam around in the forest and would return later. Dreading the worst, she decided to go searching for her daughter, when he said that she could search after eating the meal. She reluctantly agreed. He served the meal; rice, meat etc."

Here the story gets a little hazy…I’m not sure how it was that the widow found out…. Maybe
the husband told her, ecstatic in the success of
his gross maneuver, or she deduced it..

What maneuver, you ask? Well, he had obviously killed the daughter, and then….had cooked her up and had served her as lunch to the very person who had borne her.

Yea I know. Sick

The story goes that the mother was so shattered, she could not want her own life to continue…. So, she jumped off the waterfalls - a very watery end to her existence.

I don’t know whether the falls was named after her or her daughter or if the name is at all related to the story. Nevertheless....

[24th July,2007 :
Its been a while since i posted this, but recently a fellow Shillongite commented on the blog and gave a new version to the Nohkalikai folk tale... here goes..

"....and the story is quite similar, except that she found the fingers and toes of the child in the 'kwai' box and I think the falls only formed after she jumped from the cliff - hence the name Noh(dive/jump) ka likai (the dive/jump point of likai). Anyway, such is the case with folktales eh---they're always changing yet nevertheless survive the changing times.."]

Anyway, the Nohkalikai falls emerges from a cliff which is a body of rock connecting 2 parallel mountains; Very much like the road on which we traveled, here also there are 2 mountains separated by a smaller distance, facing each other. So, one can’t actually go to the place where the waterfalls drops, one can only view it from strategically placed viewpoints on one of the mountains. Because of the distance and height, from the viewpoints, the falls looks much smaller than the massive body of water it actually is. However, the intensity of the sound of rushing water, even at such a distance never lets anyone forget the royal splendour of the haunting falls..;

Localites say that the Nohkalikai commands patience from the people who come to see it. The reason being an almost perennial envelop of fog hovering over the valley where the waterfalls is located. That day too, everything was sunny when we reached Cherrapunjee, however as we neared the viewpoints, by some extraordinary coincidence, the weather partially became foggy.

Amazingly, on the road we were on, on one side was bright sunshine, on the other (the side where the waterfalls was), sparse clouds seemed to float around, creating a semi-opaque environment. By the time we reached the viewpoint, the fog had completely enveloped the mountain and the valley
below, which meant that all we got to see when we overlooked the viewpoint, was a white screen - sometimes thinning with the wind...sometimes thickening. As the last time I had been there was a long time ago, I had completely forgotten how the falls was - as in, amongst all the endless white, I couldn’t at all visualize the falls… whether it was near or far, whether the falls was dropping from the mountain where we standing or the next, whether the water flow was high or low… not a clue.... The only feel we could get, that a massive water body was crashing in the vicinity, was the constant sound of gushing water. It’s a powerful sound… haunting and melodious at the same time.

Some people were already waiting at the viewpoints, hoping that the fog would clear soon. To stand there, with nothing but an envelop of white and grey to entertain you, is indeed trying. Especially when you know there are other beautiful falls where you can go...For the first few minutes, the fog showed no sign of thinning; the weather got cloudier. At that point, my father (who is a singularly restless person) thought we should move ahead. I persisted, ‘a few minutes more’, ‘a few minutes more’…; we also joined the crowd. The first 10-15 minutes tried our patience because we could see just about nothing…. After that, if a wind blew in the right direction, the fog cleared for a few minutes,
revealing a little green with even smaller patches of brown, giving some indication of what lay beneath...

And then, again, within seconds, the wind, changing its mood would restore the whiteness of the scene, and we would all be left thirsting for a clearer picture. And then, magically, gradually, as if wanting to keep its spectators in suspense for as long as possible, the fog cleared.

At first, I could just see the lower portion of the
waterfall, i.e. the pool where the water flowed into.
Even in the slight fog, the sea green colour of the
water was magnificent. Amidst all that white, to
see such a brilliant shade of green in a pool of water was unexpected. I couldn’t take my eyes away from the wonderful vision unfolding in front of my eyes. Gradually, we could see the larger picture, the mountain at the other side, the valley below, the point at the cliff from where the water emerges, the green carpet of trees, the water trickling( from that distance it seemed to be trickling) down form the pool farther and farther away…

An amazing collage of white, green, brown and blue colours, all demanding our attention.

After that, actually speaking, we saw nothing as magnificent. The reality of the water problem hit
us when we saw cliffs, which previously had huge waterfalls emerging at regular distances, all dry. At the distance, one could see the different colour of the cliff at the points where waterfalls used to exist.. It was a distinctly lighter shade of brown as compared to the rock surface around it. On one stretch of cliff, where earlier there used to be 4 waterfalls racing to a rocky bottom, all but one had dried up. And the remaining one was of extremely low water volume… It was a saddening sight. My parents, who had been there many times more than me, were very disillusioned. It was like the beauty of Cherrapunjee, as they had known and seen, was vanishing. Decreased rainfall the last two years had seriously reduced the
natural beauty of the place.

Then, we went to the Maushmai caves. Made of
natural stalagmites and stalactites, these caves
have an exactly opposite effect on one; here comes in place the mystery and danger of nature. The last time I was there, there were no lights within the caves, and we’d taken candles and had entered the caves at one side and after getting past nooks and crevices (with the guidance of our tour guide), so small that it was almost unbelievable that we went through them. This time, although there were lights arranged inside, it was nevertheless more eerie.

Inside actually there are supposedly two ways to go.. one way exits about 150 metres, and
another supposedly leads to Bangladesh.. It is
said that previously the second path was used by traffickers to smuggle goods across and so now that path is blocked. Anyway, after walking for some metres and feeling the cold and clammy rocks, I reached a place from where a small opening which was the only way to proceed further. I decided it was time to face the sunshine once again.

The next place was a waterfalls with the same name as the caves.. Maushmai falls.. probably because they’re located pretty near to each other.. As in most of the sights in Cherrapunjee, you can’t actually be at the falls; you can only view it from a distance. There too our disillusionment
was ongoing –the huge water body had dwindled
into a thread of white from the distance. The
viewpoint is spread over a large area on top of a mountain, complete with a restaurant and all. From there, the plains of Bangladesh are visible. They look very near. Its pretty awesome actually; a range of mountains drastically ending, diminishing into total plains - one can even make out the rivers, fields….

I suppose the Bangladesh border area we saw is totally rural. Hence, there was no sign of civilization from that distance. But the total effect of the nature’s contrary creations; plains and heights- side by side looks really unreal.

A better and slightly nearer view of the Bangladesh plains was obtained at the next place we visited; out last stop in Cherrapunjee. It is
actually a man-made park designed on top of yet another mountain. The highlight of the park is its panoramic view of Bangladesh as well as yet another waterfall which falls further down the road we came through -Kynrem Falls. The falls is such that it pours just next to the road (the road leads to Shella - a small town/village situated in the valley among the mountains). Since it’s much farther down the road, people usually don’t go all the way. A photograph of the falls, which my father had taken years ago from the road and which is now enlarged and framed in our drawing room, shows just how beautiful the falls looks from down below.

We too didn’t go. From there, we directly started
the return journey back to Shillong. If while going, I couldn’t take our eyes off the picturesque terrain, while returning I couldn’t stop glancing at the clouds. When we were on the part of the road with the gorges…I could see proper clouds (I say proper because you can’t mistake these clouds for thick fog) rising up from below, to the surface of the mountain tops, to finally merge into the heavenly skies. It was an unearthly sight… cottony masses gradually rising as if they belonged there…on the terra firma.

Further away as the late afternoon transformed into dusk, my fascination with sunsets was rewarded. I couldn’t precisely see the sunset, but the resplendent havoc created by the sunrays and the clouds amongst the greenery was more than enough. Red and gold mixed in different proportions, painting each shade present in the glorious portrait of the sky.

I sighed. The trip had come to an end…
One day….so much of beauty…
Unforgettable.

Deleted Orkut Profile..

A lot of ideas,
Too less of time,
A lot of plans,
Too less of energy,
A lot of hopes,
Too less of effort,
A lot of friends,
Too less true ones,
A lot of practicality,
Too less of emotions,
A lot of opportunities,
Too less courage,
A lot of sarcasm,
Too less of tact,
A lot of loyalty,
Too less of expression,
A lot of caution,
Too less of spontaneity,
A lot of mistakes,
Too less perfections..
That's a lot of what I am,
There's also a lot more to decipher...

Some disappointments,
Some long-lasting friendships,
Some broken relationships,
Some memorable occasions,
Some beautiful places,
Some ground realities,
Some caring people,
Some illogical fears,
Some terrible nighmares,
Some unforgettable journeys,
Some ecstatic moments,
Some difficult times,
That's a lot of how my voyage has been till now,
There's also a lot more to experience..

Changing lifestyles,
Facing realities,
Taking control,
Correcting mistakes,
Expanding horizons,
Shaping the future,
Searching for tranquility,
That's a lot of what I'm trying to do,
There's also a lot more that needs to be done..
And that's all there is to it........

Anonymous Musings...

I generally don't like inspirational stuff.. but this this something I really liked....

Life
~anonymous~

As we grow up, we learn that even the one person
that wasn't supposed to ever let you down probably will.

You will have your heart broken probably more than once
and it's harder every time.

You'll break hearts too,
so remember how it felt when yours was broken.

You'll fight with your best friend.

You'll blame a new love for things an old one did.

You'll cry because time is passing too fast,
and you'll eventually lose someone you love.

So take too many pictures, laugh too much,
and love like you've never been hurt
because every sixty seconds you spend upset
is a minute of happiness you'll never get back.

Don't be afraid that your life will end,
be afraid that it will never begin.

Remnants of a Red and Gold Sky..

I was about to post a photo blog of some pictures of my home …. Then I got so caught up in nostalgia that I could not resist jotting down some of those wonderful moments…

I have always been amazed by the sky. As a child, when I first learnt about the stars, planets and the Universe, the wonder that hit me then, that the millions of glistening dots were actually huge bodies , more massive than I could imagine, never left my consciousness. Like very other child, I too once had had aspirations to becoming an astronaut or scientist… to learn about those celestial entities, so far yet so awe-inspiring. With time, those aspirations ceased, yet my wonderment regarding the sky never ceased.

I was fortunate enough to have been born and brought up in a place where the sky was not one faded grey blanket of city lights, dust and pollution where the stars were dull spots, and the moon lost in the mass of grey smoke. For the first 18 years of my life, I have lived in a hill-station, on the slope of a hill with nothing immediately in front of our house. Below our house, after some space, on the hill was another house, and further below, another. There ended the hill, and started another, this time upward. So basically, the moment we opened our doors and stepped into the verandah, there were no buildings or obstacles to keep away the fresh breezes.

Like every other hill-station, the houses were not so near, with the spaces in between occupied by pine trees, and other kinds of vegetation. About a kilometer away, right in front, was a house at exactly our level, and further away, of course, there were valleys and other hills. The most tangible physical feature was a range of mountains pretty far away which occupied most of our western sky view. Our house faces the Northern and Western sky, and hence every evening, we could witness the sunset, provided the weather was in a happy mood.

In the evenings, my mother used to love to walk in the verandah (she still does), watching the sky create its magical spectacle of sun rays, clouds and stars. I must have gotten that from her - love of nature, a feeling of being so small in this vast universe, a feeling of contentment and good fortune that I could see such heavenly beauty almost everyday.

When I was small, my mother had once floated in a superstition in my mind – that in the evening, if one sees a single star and enters the house (without seeing a second star), one is bound to be part of a fight. That fear, coupled with not wanting to miss any part of the glorious sunsets, had made me a permanent occupant of the verandah, right until the sky was dark, and all but a few patches of red and orange had disappeared.

When I was a little older, my Mother told me the reason behind the superstition, that perhaps way back, when the superstition was first told, the wise men must have thought that people should stay outside in the evenings, to breathe the fresh air, and had started this illogical rule. Anyway, by that time, I had become an irreversible fan of nature, and didn’t really mind the mild deception. In fact, deep inside, I was glad for it.

Those evenings will remain indelibly in my memory….

Apart from those evenings, my Mother and I shared the beauty of another glittery canvas… which happens so frequently that people forget to notice; The Night sky.

Sometimes, for absolutely no reason, we’d be in the verandah at night….especially if it was a really clear night, or it was slightly warmer than usual. The cool winds would rid us of all discomfort and I’d again start looking skywards. At home, like I said before, the sky was darker, and the stars more defined, as if each trying to show off its jeweled exterior. Besides the sky, all the mountains at the western and northern horizon had buildings, the lights of which shone from the distance. It was like another sky below the horizon; Sometimes, the sky and the land would all seem to merge into one… the tiny lights miles away and the majestic stars millions of light years looked alike.

On some rare nights, when there was a sudden power-cut in the whole area due to some electric fault somewhere, the darkness was enchanting.

If it was a moonless night, there was total darkness in whichever direction one looked, except heavenwards. And what a sight it was up there! Millions of diamonds engraved on one sheet of black…millions of possibilities waiting to be discovered..

If it was a moony night, then it seemed like a mild tube light had been turned on in the sky, bathing very object with its silvery rays. All the distant buildings, trees, lampposts would be coloured in shades of grey, with any surface of metal glimmering without any harsh intensity. It would look unearthly.

I often wished I could capture the vision somewhere, so as to never forget, and to always see…that was never to happen… no camera could capture the awe or the magnificence….that was only to experience..

And then, once power was restored, lights would be blinking in every direction, again creating the alternate sky. As my mother would be calling me inside, I would be torn between wishing power was gone again and being glad that it was back. (Why glad?? Well…there would be some TV serial that I would not have wanted to miss .. )

Even now, when I live in a different place, I often remember those halcyon evenings, those starry nights.

I can still feel the wind chilling my face, while I look westwards.
I can still hear the silence, a pressure cooker going off at a distant kitchen is the only tangible sound, besides the sound of crickets, far away cars,
I can still experience the peace of mind….

Back then, I had often wished I had a camera with me… so that I could store every beautiful sunset, every single ray… But I didn’t. Now when I do have one (a simple one on my cell-phone), I’m not in that place anymore…I go there once in a while, and the last time I went, I clicked to my heart’s content.

For me, the camera is my source of creativity….and I use it at the oddest of times…
----on the way back from office..
------from the terrace at 2 am in the morning…
--------on the road, stuck in traffic….

Any place..

It’s like maybe I’m trying to capture all the beautiful sights I see… to compensate for those lost skyscapes…..

Have a look..

A Reluctant Ode..

Things finally seem to have settled.. One year... its taken me that long to finally understand the dynamics of professional life and the changes in personal life that come along with it..Anyway, apart from a few falls and mishaps, the past one year has been a treasure of experiences, both pleasant and bitter.In retrospect, I really have very few regrets; just one or two stray decisions which I took due to coaxingly coercive misguided do-gooders...but that’s ok... taught me a thing or two about human psychology.

In my 23 years of mellow existence, (out of which I spent the first 5 years enjoying life, the next 10 years enjoying school life with an intensity only slightly lesser than the first 5 years, the next 7 years enjoying +2 college life and graduation, with as much voracity as previously, barely having time to philosophize about the moods and methods of the human mind), after traversing the past year, I have come to an unwelcome conclusion.

I say unwelcome because the conclusion is not conducive to my kind; my kind meaning the female kind.Since the last year, I’ve realized that I get along more with guys than girls. I seem to think more like them than like girls. I've even been euphemized as 'a good looking gal with a guy's brain'..Hmmmmm.. That’s a compliment I really liked :)..

Guys live in a totally alternate universe of mindsets; their thoughts, their methods, their strategies are all clear cut - straight and forward...no curves of artifice or cunning present to mar their direction of thinking. They don't believe in hiding their feelings - be it anger/frustration/annoyance/hurt. In a way its good.

Ever witnessed a fight between to guys who are friends?? Few words, one punch, one look of disbelief, another punch, a feeling of having vented out one's feelings, and voila! They are back to being friends again. Some call this caveman technique and label it as uncivilized. Well, I guess the cavemen must have been really happy if that’s the way they solved quarrels – I agree it could lead to injuries detrimental to the health of the parties involved but isn’t a little physical hurt much better than the endless mental disturbance of continuing a cold war? Having some things to the other person and yet not expressing them for the sake of appearances – that’s what we girls do (mostly).

(In the lines ahead, wherever I’ve said ‘we’ I’ve meant the female species in general)

It’s mostly about the ego…. If we have a problem, we expect that the person, who might in some way be responsible for the problem, should automatically understand and sense it and rectify the issue, or at least apologize. If the other person is a girl, well, then we’re at a universal deadlock…. By some il/logical reasoning she’ll conclude that she has done no wrong and if anything the other girl should say something to the effect of sorry… Herein starts the clash of egos… leading to cold war… and then if neither melt down…..to a final detachment. It might have been some very minor issue, which could have been resolved by a direct conversation bringing out whatever each one has against the other…. But no! That’s not how most of us do it.

Had it been a guy at the other end, well than maximum chances are, the problem would have been solved within the space of a week if not earlier. Why? Because, he’d notice something weird in her behaviour (which she would invariably portray, not trying in the least to hide her obvious displeasure), ask her directly. She’ll scream at him, speak about what wrongs he had (or maybe had not) done; he’ll soothe her with a few choice words of apology, and maybe a few flowers….and there the matter is closed.

I feel that the root of all differences is the fact that most of us are a little too touchy and overly sensitive sometimes. A major part of our miseries are caused by trivialities…
’She didn’t call me’,
‘He didn’t pay his share’,
‘She didn’t wish me on my anniversary of the day I was proposed to’,
‘I’m not going to her party; she called me at the last minute’,
‘I hate her – she always teases me about my clothes/dressing sense/makeup/shoes/etc./etc.’,
‘She’s way too friendly with my guy’,
‘I don’t like the way she acts as if she is the queen’,
……

Unfortunately I could go on…
But I don’t want too…

With guys, I think its more open and maybe a little too direct ….Being a female myself, I say ‘a little too direct’, because we are hardly ever capable of directness and so we count even a little frankness as ‘a little too direct’..
If a guy has a problem with another person (be it a male/female), 95 times out of 100, he’ll go and confront that person –
‘What is the matter’,
‘Why are you behaving differently?’
‘Is everything all right?’
‘Is there a problem?’
….. (These are probably the politest quotes that they use, in all probability, with a person of the female gender…
If it’s a guy, the quotes would have been somewhat different and spiced up with a vast vocabulary of profanities and abuse… and the best part is that the other guy would have answered in the same swearing dialect without the least hesitation – he wouldn’t have become outraged at the usage of such unmentionable words…. Hahaha….not that I advocate such language…)

Hmmmmmm, its not that guys have it good all the way….but right now.. I’ll leave it at this point..
Let the guys feel a little light… a little heady……
Praises showering for them…
Eventually, they will come back to earth , maybe after reading a subsequent post I’ll write….
Let that remain in the shadows for now.. because I, myself don’t know when I’ll write about the intricacies of the female kind…their thought process, their compassion, their essence which sets them a gender apart..
After all there’s so much to say about us….

Disturbing Thoughts.

Some things that really disturb me or leave me pondering:

People eating their meals alone,

People doing tedious jobs which are thankless and low-paying (the liftman, for example),

Small-time roadside vendors trying to sell their wares but hardly succeeding, (it’s actually the sight of seeing their forlorn and expectant faces while you cross their stalls/carts),

People walking barefoot on the roads,(they act as a reminder that while some of us don't think twice before buying shoes worth 2000 bucks, some consider shoes a luxury, not being able to spend their meagre funds on even a pair of chappals)

When someone’s persona is so defined by his uniform that when you see them out of uniform, you feel a sense of familiarity but cannot really place them. (Have you ever noticed the security guard at office when he’s not in uniform?? He might recognize you and smile or whatever, while you’re left trying to figure out where you’ve seen the guy before..)

There might be some more stuff too..but that’s all I could remember right now….

...Straight From the Heart..

Here’s a list of people who have influenced/ have been influencing my humdrum life in more ways than they know…

With the test of time and/or distance, some have faded into oblivion while some are as bright as before…It’s an assorted list so there’s no method or relevance attached to the order…

‘Mickey Mouse’:- My first crush….Hahaha…Now when I look back at those days, I wonder at my silliness. This guy used to live in the same colony as me and his house was on the way to the bus stand. I knew him long before I knew that I had a crush on him..
He was a few years my senior and his school bus would leave the stand about 5 minutes before I reached the stand. Sometimes, if I reached the stand a little earlier than usual, I would strain my eyes to find him among the array of students in a sea of Navy Blue and White.. And the day he stopped to smile at me or spoke a word or two of commonplace stuff, I’d be in the seventh heaven of delight – I’d rush home, wait for my brother to go for his daily dose of friends and Cricket, and then start scribbling all details in my diary. (I never dared to bring my diary within visual range of my (at that time) terrifying elder brother, who always threatened me about reading my diary – Hope he never did..) Anyway, this infatuation of mine persisted for quite some time and at that time I used to think that I’d never get over him. I guess all of us feel that way about our first crush.
And then one fine morning, while going to some relative’s house, I see that that house and its contents, people and furniture both, were moving out of our colony. On making some nonchalant enquiry, I found out that they were shifting to another colony in another locality. And so he shifted. After a few days, another family moved into that same house. Supposedly there was a girl of my age in that family. Unreasonably, without knowing her, I disliked her immensely. (Poor girl…it wasn’t her fault after all..)

'Tuki’:- Hmmm if you’re still feeling sorry for the girl I mentioned above, well she basically survived my initial prejudice, and now is a close friend of mine. How? That’s a mystery. We used to go the same tuition classes, and we clicked from the first day. I told her why I disliked her for no reason… she and I had a good laugh over it. The best part was, our tutor used to leave us free a lot of times, so we used to get a lot of time for idle chatter. It’s very easy talking to her; we come from very similar backgrounds. When it came to doing graduation after 12^th, we tried to somehow get through the same institute, but this girl from my college took the seat ‘Tuki’ was supposed to take.(Darn her!) However, time and distance never created a rift between the two of us – she even came down to my college for a short trip…The same thing happened when it came to jobs; The company she got selected in chose not to select me, while the company that selected me didn’t opt for her. It’s fortunate that we’re from the same region, state, city and colony even and eventually do meet up.