Thinking of you...

Remember gal, when we were walking in the Park?
You wanted to go home. It was late, it was dark.

Remember gal, the numerous rides on the Bike?
You hugged me so tight! The way I used to like.

Remember gal, the love letters that we wrote?
You always made a tiny heart! In the end, like a love-note.

Remember gal, the food we used to share?
You used to eat! But always start with a prayer.

Remember gal, I told I’m comin’ and you screamed?
You waiting at the station! Everything was like a dream.

Of all the times you remembered were when you cried!
Mistakes we both committed, but slowly your love for me died.

I have no one but my God, who knows my love is true!
Though you are long gone, I am still thinking of you!!

MPD

Anger, fury, Why I am always in a rage?
Life sucks! It's Drama; I am on a stinkin' stage.

I play games with others, I throw mud!
Not knowing I’m lyin' in my own cold-blood!

Power, Wealth, Being Godly, that's what I desire…
Diplomatic I'm, I'm nothing but a liar!

My hands are red! A pleasurable thrill,
My eyes glowing, I want to kill, kill...

Wanna play,Wanna play. I'm a good player,
Nice to meet you; They call me the ManSlayer!

Shoot, Shoot!! Blow up the Brain…
I wanna compare which is more of a sweeter pain.

Someone hand me the Scissors, I'll cut myself the thread.
Transition is the best, from being alive to being dead,

Didn’t you like it, when I watched you die for hours?
I came to you visit your grave, brought some flowers.

You all think I have something wrong with my mentality,
NO! I was a victim of Multiple Split Personality.

My Beloved

Countless people in this world have loved
Who says their sentiments were not true?
But they had not the means to advertise their love
Because they were, like you and I, impoverished

My beloved they too would have loved
Whose skill has blessed it with form and beauty
Memorials to their love remain unnamed, unmarked
Ne’er a soul did light a lamp on them

This garden, the bank of Yamuna, palaces
These exquisite walls, these domes, these arches
An emperor, shored up by his wealth
Has made a mockery of our poor people’s love

My beloved, we shall meet some other place

Little Warrior

“Didi, how did my parents look like?”

These were the words of a four year old girl. I took her in my lap and cried for an hour.

These were a part of the challenges that I faced in the early phases of my life. I was a Science side student and I took up to work for an orphanage in which kids were rescued from difficult and different circumstances. There were kids who were disowned after broken marriages, kids with abusive parents, orphans, and kids disowned by un-married underage girls. Our orphanage took them all under one roof and let go of them only after they were able to support themselves. Kids in our orphanage were never put up for adoption. For every child, a distinct plan was devised and based on their likes and skills - they were groomed in specific fields.

Being a very old organization, money was never a problem. Funds would come from people who were once orphans themselves and were part of this organization, from government agencies and also from political parties, which would time use the name of the organization for their political benefits every now and then.

I did not know how to respond to that sudden question that Namita threw at me. I cried; it was very confusing. Namita also started crying; for a 4 year old it was hard to see an adult cry. She was an orphan left at our place by the local police. As far as I remember, she was disowned by her mother. But it was a question that has to be answered. The void in her heart needed some explanation until she grew up to understand why it happened to her. I told her stories of God and Goddesses, how beautiful they looked like, and that that was how her parents looked were.

I always expected kids to come and ask me question like this on my weekly visits. Some used to ask where their parents are right now. Some asked about why their parents fought so much. The questions were endless and the answers were very few. We made the young ones to pray to God as they believed their parents were with God.

My life changed when Arun came into the orphanage. It was one of the usual court hearings where orphanage representatives would go. There would be a notice from court and kids without any relatives would be legally handed over to our organization. Arun was a special case and the police were not best people to handle a 7 year old kid.

Arun’s father was a business-man and his mother was a house-wife. Over a usual family tiff, Arun’s father has beaten up his mom and later in the fury killed her mother with bare hands. Seeing his wife dead, Arun’s father shot himself in front of Arun.

Arun was 6 back then. He lost his voice from that moment.

When I read the case study (as they used to call it), I realized the child has been in and out of different orphanage for almost a year without a trauma-care after what he had been through. All the orphanages had not treated him well as he wasn’t the obvious choice for adoption.

Initially, Arun was not responding to any of the care and treatment shown by the workers and the doctors. He would sit idle in one corner and would show no interest in anything going around him. Almost a month went by and none of my visits helped him come out from the shell.

My mother was never interested in the activity I had taken up along with my studies. She would crib that I should indulge in normal girl-like activities. After every visit this would be the reason of her quarrel with me. But when I question her on these so-called “Girl-Like” activities, she would change the topic. My mother wasn’t a bad person; all she needed was an eye opener. Arun came to my rescue. (I am still not sure who came for whose rescue).

It took me long to convince the organization people, but seeing no change in Arun’s condition over the past one month, they allowed me to take Arun to my home. It was the best month for my mom. In the next one month, I saw my mom feeding, playing, cleaning and loving Arun like her own child. For the first time she saw the right picture, why I liked to spend my weekends at the orphanage rather than at home. Arun liked my company, but I was still unable to see the smile on his face. He has started showing signs of interest but without any emotions. And yes, Arun had no problem in speaking; Doctors said his voice-box has no problems. He just refused to speak.

The month ended and my mother packed Arun neatly back to the orphanage. After reaching the orphanage other kids were very interested in all the stuff Arun got from my mom. Somehow in this one month, one of the workers has spoken out about Arun’s parents and the killings.

The kids knew about Arun’s parents. I won’t say other kids acted evil, because it actually acted as the trigger in Arun’s revival, but kids in private started teasing Arun and making fun of him. The month long effort at my place went down the drains. Arun was once again back to his state of indifference. He would sit in one corner staring on people around him; like he could see everything but did not want to register anything.

Then one day…

“Didi, why did my father kill my mom and himself?” I turned around to see Arun with tears in his eyes. I knew my joy has no bounds. It took him almost 2 years to speak his pain out. Ironically, he spoke about the incident exactly on the same date his father killed himself and his wife 2 years ago.

I wanted to hug Arun and cry along with him. I wanted to gather everyone around and show them that he can speak. But before that I had to heal the wound he had in his heart for 2 long, painful years. I took him out, where the kids were playing and asked him if he wanted the answer. He was big enough to understand my question. He nodded his head while wiping the tears with his shirt.

I told Arun, “At times we all get so angry that we never know what we are doing. My mother scolds me and I many times shout back. That is why we all ask you not to fight. Not to get angry about things. For grown-up it is harder, that is why we ask you to cultivate this habit from early childhood.”

It was Arun who soon became the consular for many fights. He would run up to me and ask for two lollypops and go back to kids who were fighting. He would pull them apart and tell them, “Look you can both either fight and end up killing each other like my parents did, or you can take this lollypop.”

From a person who didn’t talk for 2 years and was never liked among other kids, he became everyone’s friend. He remembered each and every story my mother read to him and he would read them to the young ones. Arun was 8 but he acted 18.

He gave me magic wand, the ultimate solution, the belief never to give up. At times when I felt down and tired of doing something I was failing in, one thought of him and two lollypops would come in front of my eyes. He became my strength.

***

Now you would be wondering why I am writing so much about Arun. It’s been almost fifteen years since I saw Arun or any of the other orphanage’s people. I moved on with my life, got a career in Architecture. After that got married and now have two kids. My husband and I regularly talk about the prospects in architecture and interior design. But each time I will turn it down. He doesn’t like me not following my career. And again no one else but Arun came to my rescue.

I received a letter which was addressed to me but had no communicating address. It all pointed to the orphanage where I have once lived and learned. Talking about the past, talking about the things I did for the kids. It asked me to visit this place on my birth day. I wasn’t as keen initially of going as my husband knew very less about the orphanage but then there was something along with the letter – two lollypops.

Each time a kid walks out of the orphanage as a woman/man, she/he has to select a date when all kids can gather and throw a party. Arun chose my birthday.

I went there along with my family, my Husband and my two kids (a boy and a girl). All the old people were happy to see me. And yes, Arun was very happy to be around me. He had finished his studies and still acts as consul to many of his friend’s problems. It was a fun filled party and Arun promised he would visit me someday. He said goodbye to me and then handed over my kids one lollypop each and said, “I hope you two don’t fight with each other”.

On my way back, I noticed a change in my husband. He was a new man. The smile in the corner of his lips and the glitter in his eyes were playing with me. It is one of the occasions when a man bows down to his wife. He understood the reason why I did not want to pursue my career any more. He knows that I want my family, my children to learn all the values I have given to those kids. He knows it all now, just that we never have to say anything about it to each other…

Author’s Note

Author has tried his best to depict the life of a little warrior. We all talk about the fast life and the world outside. But everyday millions of kids (secure or insecure ones) fight their own battle. May be we all have something to learn from them?

Baarish

Baarish ki boondein kuch yaadie le aati hai,
Mere maan mein koi ahsaas sa jagati hai.
Kabhi baho mein liya tha tumko humne,
Wo daman ki mehek charo aur bikhar jati hai...

Baarish ki boondein kuch yaadie le aati hai,
Mere kano mein koi sur sa jagati hai.
Kabhi gori kalaiyo pe chudiya penhaie thee humne,
Wo chan-chan aaj bhi sunayi deti hai...

Baarish ki boondein kuch yaadie le aati hai,
Mere dil mein koi tasveer banaa deti hai,
Kabhi teri nazar utaari thee humne,
Wo Khil-khilaati haasi aaj bhi nazar aati hai...

Baarish ki boondein kuch yaadie le aati hai…

Two People Meet...

Two worlds apart, their lives begin
and they grow- in heart and mind and soul.
Two people, two strangers, two identities, two minds.
Deep within them grows also a dream - a dream of someone;
Someone to live with, someone to live for,
Someone unseen, unknown; who someday would come along. <>

Two worlds apart, their lives go on,
the dreams fade, but they never die.
Two people, two hopes, two wishes, two dreams.
Dreams almost lost; revived in solitude alone.
Watching over them, watching them grow,
One day God decides - it's time for the dreams to end. <>

Two worlds apart, they reach out one day,
At HIS command - two dreams end; two people meet.
Two people, two strangers, two wishes, two dreams.
Together at last, they discover what was meant to be.
In a whole new world their lives begin anew,
And they grow-in love surreal and joys untold.

Two worlds apart, they parted away,
As fate beckons – two people met; now they separate.
Two people, two dreamers, two lovers, two strangers,
Together they learned, it was never meant to be.
As clouds of darkness, gathers in the sky above,
For what they had, now were exiled for love.

The playing field is being leveled... or is it?

I am working in one of the top multinational company – Infosys. The people who are sitting at the top are people who make or break international news everyday. We get to read articles on NRM sir, Nandan, on our desktop on a regular basis. One of such news was the interview of Nandan by Thomas L. Friedman (Pulitzer-winning New York Times columnist) about his book ‘The World Is Flat: A Brief History of the Twenty-First Century’. Friedman was interviewing many Indian entrepreneurs for a television documentary. What impressed me most was the intriguing way Nandan answered Friedman’s questions. Finally this is what he writes in his article for New York Times (only a part of it…)

At one point, summing up the implications of all this, Nilekani uttered a phrase that rang in my ear. He said to me, “'Tom, the playing field is being leveled.” He meant that countries like India were now able to compete equally for global knowledge work as never before — and that America had better get ready for this. As I left the Infosys campus that evening and bounced along the potholed road back to Bangalore, I kept chewing on that phrase: “The playing field is being leveled.”

“What Nandan is saying,” I thought, “is that the playing field is being flattened. Flattened? Flattened? My God, he's telling me the world is flat!”

Here I was in Bangalore — more than 500 years after Columbus sailed over the horizon, looking for a shorter route to India using the rudimentary navigational technologies of his day, and returned safely to prove definitively that the world was round — and one of India's smartest engineers, trained at his country's top technical institute and backed by the most modern technologies of his day, was telling me that the world was flat, as flat as that screen on which he can host a meeting of his whole global supply chain. Even more interesting, he was citing this development as a new milestone in human progress and a great opportunity for India and the world — the fact that we had made our world flat!

When I read this article, I was impressed by the way Americans are getting moved and bugged by leaders of modern India. The phrase stuck to my mind too, “The playing field is being leveled”. Indeed, it is. The likes of NRM sir, Azeem Premji, Sameer Bhatia have created so much difference in the growth of our country.

The columnist came to India just to write about the ways Indians have captured the whole world of IT industry. But I am not here to talk about just the IT industry. I am here to talk about INDIA. That is what concerns me more than just the IT Industry. The topic I am about to embark upon is a controversial one, lots of debates, hunger strike have been made on it but what have we achieved – Nothing.

I will again say the phrase, “The Playing Field is being leveled.” Are we trying hard to grasp the true meaning of this phrase? When I saw the news, Reservation is a major issue. People are coming out with rallies, hunger strike. Govt is giving out staggering figures. I think someone was talking about 63% reservations in TN or Chennai (not sure about the data). Come on folks, I don’t see any leveled field here. I don’t have a solution for this situation as I am biased to the whole situation. Nandan’s phrase doesn’t fit in this case, that’s all I can say.

I get a forward saying Saurabh from AIIMS dies of Hunger strike against reservation. Media doesn’t want to cover it because its controversial. I don’t know whether this is true or false, but if it’s false why don’t the media say it is. I enjoy every bit of coverage from NDTV when it comes to cricket, natural calamities others. Today I feel that even if this news of student dying for a protest is false, I feel media folks are professionally heartless bastards. They want news but are also puppets in the hands of politicians.

Leaving Reservation I come across another hot topic, Dan Brown’s controversial book Da Vinci Code. Based on this best seller, the movie, Da Vinci Code created ripple among the Religious communities in India.

I am getting too controversial now. Nandan’s phrase was regarding the IT industry of India, for me it’s more about India. Being a vast country and a secular nation, it’s hard to get a leveled field. The corrupt politics and the infected judiciary system have left the common man frustrated, miserable and helpless. From Jessica Lal’s case to millions of scams, we have seen how ineffective the system is.

But then, we are hopeful like always. If IT industry has reached this milestone, living with the same system, having the same type of people, we will some day find a similar solution, a similar ground to solve the problems.

<>

Disclaimer

All material of this blog is author’s own thoughts and views. They are no way related to his company or his employer.

Dreams

I have always been a sleepy head. For me sleeping is the most important thing in life; the saying in Hindi ‘Soge to koho ge’ (If you sleep you lose) doesn’t apply. For me, it’s like eight to nine hours of sleep on weekdays and up to twelve hours on weekends. People ask, “Why do you sleep so much?” I tell them gently that I love to watch dreams. The best part is, I can remember each and every dream I see. I can even recall the dream I had day before yesterday! It’s a gift God has given me. At times it is hard to think of it as a gift, especially during exam times, as the fear of a blank paper comes to me very naturally. My dad probably had it too; maybe it is in the gene pool. What ever it is, for most part of my life, I have enjoyed what I saw.

I recently met a friend of mine - Rajni. She likes to listen to other people dreams and then analyze their “inner meaning”. According to me, everything happens for a reason; if I can remember dreams and love to sleep, I find a friend who likes to listen to them and analyze them. What! Confused? Well, it’s a weird world out there and we play the lead roles.

On one of our outings to CCD (oh for all my Infosys folks, its Café Coffee day and not the CCD, where we put our network/hardware problems) she and I got into an argument about the dreams we see. She was adamant that a person can remember dreams only because he or she is under extreme stress and is unable to have a sound sleep. She continued with the argument stating that we go into an unconsciousness state when we sleep, and people who can remember dreams are in a state of sub-consciousness, and the stress on the grey cells intensifies, and that their mobility throughout over nervous system makes us remember what ever we are stressed about. And I went “This doesn’t happen with everyone!”

God, or whatever the unknown force that drives me, never has made me feel stressed out. I have never felt any strain when I get up in the morning. Actually, when I don’t have nightmares, just the simple dreams, the mornings are lovely. My morning moods are totally dependent on how great my dreams were…

Rajni is those nagging kind of gals (no offense to gals) who do not agree so easily. She kept saying “You will have some sort of fallout in the morning. There has to be fire if you see smoke!” But this is not the way logic works with dreams, my dreams at least.

The meeting ended without any solution; do we see symptoms of stress in the morning if we remember any dreams, or do we not! This thought kept lingering around my mind. How ironical it was– contemplating if I had stress in morning because of my dreams was so trying, I found myself not sleeping that night!

The next day I got up with splitting headache. The whole night my brain was trying to check if I was stressed while I sleeping. It was like my brain was sleeping and at the same time keeping a check on how “the brain” is sleeping… Gosh… Even the medicos won’t know how to (and probably wouldn’t want to) correlate this to medical sciences. Any how, a drug during my breakfast brought my head back from hell. I realized that I need a final answer to this whole mystery of STRESS or NO-STRESS.

“Necessity is the Mother of Invention.” My head was a big mess, so I tried doing some experiment of my own. I called up my family 2 nights in a row, one time intentionally fighting with them and other time just having a casual family chat. The days I fought, I had thoughts of my elder brother and my mom (whom I am more close to) in my dreams. Hope now you see where I am going in this experiment. No? Well, even I wasn’t just sure even after 2 nights.

Gaming freaks like me spend quality time learning how to play new and advance gaming technique. So the next experiment was to play varieties of games and see how my dreams “react”.

Sometimes we try so hard for things and mess up the whole process. Too much violence and bloodshed and long hours on PC wore me out so much that I hardly had any dreams. Too bad, the plan just blew up in my face.

So this time, I called a Gal (okay guys no whistling and all – I fancy her, but right now no sparks…). She and I got in a long conversation about each other’s family and before I went to bed, she said something interesting (sorry, not to be disclosed). The night was one of the best. I was walking all throughout the dream in a park (I am also a nature freak) and a soothing song was playing in the background.

Okay enough mushy talks, back to the point. Now I was sure, that dreams do stress our mind to certain limit. The limit is decided by no one, but us. We are the controller of our own dreams. Well actually, it’s my own theory about me and how I want to see my dreams. Even now, I go around doing some small experiments, trying to mould my dreams the way I want them. They don’t produce a perfect result but yeah, most of the time they are the way I want them to be.

Coming back to my friend Rajni’s thought. I met her again (no not in CCD, it was in the college parking lot) I asked her if she can spare sometime about her theory of dreams and the morning stress. She was pre-judgmental and growled that I would again go against her theory and that she wasn’t interested in listening. But that lasted only for few seconds after what I said.

It was simple to make her understand that the stress she is talking about it nothing but the pressure we put on our self during our working hours. I hardly get this because I don’t have any tension for me to get stressed out. I see and enjoy my dreams, as in the evenings, I tend to loosen myself with evening strolls or a good laugh with friends. TV is not much part of my life (apart from cricket), and I don’t watch too much of “kyun ki saas bhi kabhi bahu thi” sagas. So the stress symptom my friend Rajni was talking about was actually present in me every morning. It was just that the stress levels were so low that I was totally enjoying my dreams. The same level shoots up the roof the moment I go under pressure, be it exams or some fight with friends.

A middle line was drawn between my friend’s theory and the one I postulated. And we were both happy standing on it admiring what the other is trying to show. She wanted to discover the lighter side of dreams. I was not very much inclined knowing the darker side, but one can never admire the beauty of happiness until sadness envelops at least ones.

Disclaimer

The author has used the name of his company during this write up. His intensions are not to harm the name, any of the divisions or any employee of the company. There are no hidden meanings to the usage.

Perfect Morning

So here I am again, boring my blog. I wish this blog of mine woukd never meet a real genie; it would just wish to be human and beat the crap out of me… Another start of another day and the thoughts came rushing in, how perfect this morning is… Or is it??

The Perfect Morning

As I get out of my bed at 6:30, I feet the cool early morning breeze on my face, greeting me a great day ahead. Messy hair & a foul taste in my mouth, I reach the washbasin, looking at myself in the mirror. With brush in one hand and the hot kettle full of boiling water, I managed to make a steaming cup of early bed tea - God bless the soul who discovered this holy-herb.

As the newspaper-wala sends down the missile, aiming always for the balcony fern, I grab hold of the paper and run towards the loo. Sorry for being so disgusting, but the relief on a human’s face right after S/he comes out of the loo, is quite similar to the satidfaction of having emerged victorius from a battele. Sweat dripping down your forehead unless of course you have fan in your loo.

<> As the cookoo clock strikes 7, I run in for a shower, filling the whole bathroom with the aroma of different soaps & shampoo. Dripping wet from the bathroom, I grab my towel trying to say the Hanumaan Chalisa (Holy book having Sanskrit verses on Lord Rama’s devoted pupil – Hanumaan). Opening the wardrobe, I look for the day's formal wear.

As the clock strikes 7:30, I am all set to hit the road. Taking my bike out from the garage, I say hi to my neighbour - Pillai uncle, reading news paper in his veranda (wishing to get a glimpse of his beautiful daughter).

The Weather is great and I drive down the long stretch of road… Reaching right on time for the 8 o clock office, I chew my breakfast peppered with some gossip from my colleagues - who is going out these days, which pair broke up recently and which friend got screwed by His/Her PM recently…

AH!!! What a Morning…

The Not-So-Perfect Morning

As the alarm screams in my ear as early as 6:30, I get up to a sweaty, hot and humid morning, telling me "you better get ready for a long lousy day". Reaching the washbasin is a problem thanks to last night's party. The beer has given me a big hangover and shaky feet. Brush in one hand and mouthwash in other, I try to remove the smell of alcohol from my breath. Why are all the utensils always dirty? They sure will be if I don’t wash them! If I do wash them, I'll have to wash them again as I will use them, getting stuck in a vicious circle. So I leave the utensils behind, deciding to grab some of the brown liquid from the office vending machine.

The stupid newspaper-wala is never on time and today when he was on time, he throws down a different language paper, which I would have to take to our next door neighbour, Pillai uncle for translation. I run to the loo, no longer having the desire to hold it, when suddenly my mother's call holds up the whole scene. She screams at my poor eating habits & for not meeting my local guardian regularly. Now the mood is gone and no matter how hard I try, the time has passed and I will have to bank on the office restrooms in case nature calls-in during this lousy day.

As my never-to-trust watch strikes 7:15, I know, "I will be going late." I run in for a quick shower, coming outside dripping all over the floor (again forgetting my towel in the hurry). Cursing the habit my parents inculcated in my early childhood to spend sometime in the morning to Worship God, I, hardly remembering anyt of the versus from the Hanuman chalisa (Holy book having Sanskrit verse based on the Lord Rama’s devoted pupil Hanumaan – I think so, not sure though), Finish reciting it quickly, thinking "Even God isn’t up so early!" Now, searching for my clothes from a messy pile in my room, I finally get hold of some crushed formals. Ironing them takes away some precious time, adding to the delay.

At 8, finally when I leave my place, I say hi to our neighbour, Pillai uncle, who gives me an ugly scowl because of last night's booze-party at my place; the thought of getting a glimpse of his beautiful daughter drives me cold, for her dad would butcher me into tiny pieces if he ever came to know that I was thinking of her.

The long stretch of road is full of pot-holes and my aging bike is finding it tough to get the beating. Reaching late at 8:30, I miss my breakfast and have no time to chat with my friends, who are already neck deep in their work. I reach my terminal only to be summoned by the PM …

AH!!! What a Morning…

Thoughts of Love

If love was an ocean, but you were afraid of water, would you stand in the sand & look at it waiting to feel the mist of the waves, or would you take the chance, dive right in and not think about it?

To love is not a part of things, or a part of life.

To love is the WHOLE of things, and the whole of life.

In my heart is my love for you, and in my love for you life whole is.

Dont know who said it and how it ended up in my diary, all i know is that it will give me immense warmth when ever I think of anything that had,have or will have to do with love...

In My Dreams…

In my dreams I don’t stop thinking
& I laugh when u start winking.

In my dreams I like your smile
& I stop that moment as to cherish for a while.

In my dreams I like your touch
& I kiss you because I love u so much.

In my dreams U always try to hide
& I feel stuck in a scary tide.

In my dreams U dance around the ocean
& I just stare you hiding my emotion

I wish these dreams just go on
& I keep seeing U from Dusk to Dawn....

Rose day...

Payar mein akele hai hum... To kazaj pe likh diye humne appne gum.....

Aaj Bahut koobsurat lag rahe ho tum,
Bahut Paayare lag rahe ho tum,
Duk to iska tha ki uske saath ho tum

Gulaab to hum bhi dena chahate the,
Do alfas to hum bhi kehena chahate the,
Par aawaj to uski he sunna chahate ho tum

Duur se tumhe dekte hein hum,
Uski Baho me muskarate ho tum
Aant me chale aaye hum yehi soch ke
Aakhir kush ho uska haat thame tum....

Overcooked brain

Yo.. Hu... I got it all wrong. Blog is not your story book... You don’t write only stories... It’s a place where you can write your thought... In my case about my life, in a very pathetic writing skills... I need to improve and what better than keep on writing till either the people around you scream at your little tiny grammatical mistake or you get so sick of your English that you pick up Wrenn Martin (if that’s the author name) and go to elementary school…

I realized that I was chasing things the wrong way… I should first get the basic right. It happened late but at last it happened. I used to get mad when ever things go the way I don’t want them to… Now I get mad and then I start doing the things I intend to do. This way I like it all along as I know I won’t be getting mad at a later stage… Jezz I am already mad… I guess I am… Again CONFUSED…

So here on my blog, I am blabbering because I am bored at office, my day’s work (visiting orkut, checking mails and chatting with friends who are busy in their project) is over and lunch hour is still half n hour away, so I will just talk about the incident that happened last evening.

MY PARENTS… All you kids, don’t get sad. They are of course the reason we exist (and the reason at times I think why? – this is a complete different topic and will be discussed later time of my life – if that happened…)

My DAD called me up and asked me all about my well being and my eating habits and the Complete Reference of Arpit’s life (by Herbert Schildt). I was mad and furious, but then again… I was all along mad; they woke me up at 10:30 in the night. I just slept after a long day of sitting on Bench… Yeah my project has just come to an end and I was deported to bench.

So after his overflowing loves of thoughts were over, it was my mom’s turn. She started with the same old question, “beta, how many meals you had in the day, hope you didn’t skip the breakfast.” What else a lady, devoted to her 2 kids, will ask. I said, yes mom, I had 3 meals a day… Actually I twisted the answer; I had lunch, evening snacks and dinner. Her mistake if she thought I was talking about breakfast, lunch and dinner. How can a bachelor, living in Chennai in a hostel and currently having no girl friend around will spend nights – watching late night TV. So I am bound to get late to office and breakfast then becomes just a luxury.

So now the topic comes what did my dad do cause of which I am bugging you all… Actually bugging Microsoft word, I am typing this whole blog here with so many typos. Anyways, my dad said, “If you want to gift us something for our marriage anniversary then give all your tensions.”

WHAT??? Where this question did on GOD-EARTH came from? Thankfully, I won’t be sleeping tonight. My parents have concern about me. Probably its old age or just the distance and me going to Delhi not very often.

But when I got up this morning I realized, it’s not the old age and probably not the distance. It’s about me and my past habits. I have done things which they don’t appreciate and they have done things which I kind-of disagree. How to draw the line where we both can stand and feel everything is right? Tough question! Beats me!!

All I can say… SHITS HAPPENS… And it will continue to happen… As one of the lovely lady in my office said, all day long I am busy with the 4 letter word –

W-O-R-K…

“I” will also be doomed with the same fate till eternity… For my parents my love is eternal and the only problem is I am too big to go and kiss my mom (on the cheek ofcourse) or hug my dad (that is quiet tough now with his bulging tummy)…

It was amazing for my parents to say this over the phone and I know its not the end. They will continue to love me (conditionally or unconditionally). As for this blog, my dad might read this blog and then… He will either do morning walks for the tummy or just give me a sumo tackle. That will be end of my blogging days…

ADIOS…

My Own Obituary

Author’s Note

I would like to thank my friend for letting me into his world and allowing me to discover so much about the four letter word – “Love”. The story is like many other love stories we all have read time and again. All it says is that “Love” is an emotion which paints our character in shades of blue, green, golden, red and white.

My Own Obituary

“I DON’T WANT TO LIVE HERE ANY MORE”, Anand shouted as he slammed his door.

Anand here plays the role of my friend who was having troubles with his parents and is the hero of this story.

“Son, we need to talk. You just can’t break a conversation when ever you feel like.” said Anand’s dad, Mr. Arvind, a lawyer by profession, a man of principles but a caring husband & father.

“Dad, I said na, things are not so easy for me here anymore. Everything is so very complicated. I have already asked for a transfer and my PM has given me a green signal. Just go away right now.” screamed Anand to his father, standing outside the room.

Anand laid down on the bed, with tears trickling down his eyes as he buried himself into the past.

Everything was great a month back. Anand and his love, Vandana were happy together. Their love was blossoming and even after their 5 year relationship they were discovering so much about each other everyday. Her one smile would make Anand’s heart skip a beat. He was addicted to her voice and each time she would sing, Anand will just fall asleep like an innocent infant on its mother’s lap. Anand’s craze for computers amused Vandana, though she hardly could figure out what he was up to. Things were all cozy and blue…

And now nothing was right. They were no longer together. Their parents declined their relation. They both wanted to revolt against them, but then fate didn’t allow that to happen. Vandana had to move away from Anand’s life. He cried, he pleaded, he shouted. But nothing could stop the inevitable. She had buried herself in the sands of time…

***

Anand never told his parents that Vandana had left him. The embarrassment that the girl for whom he was ready to leave them for had left him was too much. He just moved out of his parent’s house. Now the troubled heart was not only sad but also lonely. The company he was working for kept him busy all day. He started to work on weekends. At times his hand reaches out for the mobile to call Vandana, but each time he called she would cut him.

Love is a funny thing… The pain Anand was suffering was hurting Vandana equally, She wanted to feel the pain each time Anand used to cry silently, far away from her. She could have changed her number or switch-off the cell each time Anand troubled her. But NO, she knows that her decision has changed lives… The future they had both lived and dreamed, for the past 5 years, was no longer to be. And they had all eternity to forgive and forget each other…

***

On one of Anand’s busy morning, he gets a call from an un-known local number…

<> “Hi Anand, nice caller tune.” said Amit on the other side.

“Yeah, crazy frog tune is the latest one. By the way, who is this?” replied anand

“Hey, don’t you recognize me? It’s me, Amit, Vandana’s brother. We met once, briefly though, at the sports center” said Amit

“Oh! Its you.” Anand’s heart started beating harder as emotions not only filled up his heart but also moistened his eyes.

Controlling his emotions he replied “Good to hear from you Amit! How come you called me?”

“You know Anand, computers and I don’t go hand-in-hand. Really need help regarding this stupid website. You are the best, I heard, and the only one I know” joked Amit.

“Send me a mail about what you want, and I will help you with that.”

“I hope I am not barging in at the wrong time?” asked Amit

“No, no. Nothing like that. I was free. I will try to do it Asap.” lied Anand.

<>Even though Anand was busy, he made the decision with his heart and not his mind. Love started playing tricks again. The call ended but wound was ripped open. He had tried very hard not to think about Vandana any more, but now her brother has brought back all the great times they had. Those pages of his life, which were like fresh green grass, written in golden letters, were desecrated with bloody tears.

“I need to know where she is. I will write a mail to her,” Anand thought to himself.

<>

***

The next morning Anand was at work a bit early to know if she has mailed him back. What he mailed was not of much significance, but what he got really shook his weak heart.

<>Hi Anand,

The mail was unexpected. I am living very much the same way you are. The only difference is that being a guy you have moved out of your parent’s home and I am living with mine, listening to their taunt every day. I have decided the same thing you have, not to marry anyone. In one life, I can love only one person. But I believe in my God, if ever the situation comes where I have to go against this, my God will give me enough strength to go through it. Right now I am more concerned about my career.

I know I don’t have the right to say anything, but I will appreciate if we keep the communication to minimum. It is as hard for me as it is for you. Take care

Vandana.

<>
Anand didn’t know what struck him. All he felt was the pain of thousand knives, stabbing his heart. All he read from the mail (again and again) was that the girl had decided to move on, and may be even getting married if SITUATION arose.

But Anand knew Vandana inside out; loving someone and living with another would burn her the most.

What Anand did after this was something no one would ever think of or would ever do. This is the reason why I am sharing this story with all of you...

***

“She wants to get married and move-on. Oh my God! … I thought we loved each other… and for the agony I am experiencing, this is what I get for a healing herb” thought Anand, so full of confusing emotions and his eyes brimming with tears.

Love is not always a bed of roses, especially with heart-breaks. Within just a few weeks after the breakup he got this news; the shock simply broke him down. He stopped eating properly. Sleeping was just a luxury. For days he was a lost soul, a person who walked, talked and breathed, for whom life had lost all its meaning! If he watched something funny, he wouldn’t laugh. If he saw something romantic, he couldn’t feel the warmth, if he heard music, his body wouldn’t spring to the tune. He was a dead-man-walking…

“Love” – the emotion everyone want to feel in their life. It could be depicted by a shade of red. Red, because it symbolizes warm feelings and warmth relates to the heart. But red could also symbolize another emotion – anger. And that was what Anand felt most of the time. His friends saw this change. And family needed not big a reason to spark his anger.

Few weeks later Anand got hold of himself, but the flame of hatred continued to burn within him. The mails he sent her soon after is something no lover should ever witness. The first mail Anand sent goes something like this…

Hi,

The only way for me to contact you is the mail box. I don’t expect a reply, even if they come, they won’t hurt me anymore... Life has taken many twists and this certainly is a big turn... I have set you free but you will suffer with the same wretchedness as I will. An inevitable fate waits me. The tears will eventually dry out and the pain will burn me till this misery ends. All breakups are messy and why should this one be any different!

I never did understand you. Never... Otherwise you wouldn’t have become so cruel... I will end here as I have loads to say... I will continue every day... For you to realize what you have created... A LIFELESS SOUL...

Anand.

Love, which had lasted for 5 years, became sour and so much bitter within months. No sane person would ever set sail in the ocean of love if its waves could bring so much hatred. A couple who were at the top of every friend’s party-list, two lovers whose romance was the hot topic during their college days, two people who spent so much time wanting to explore each other; they were now turning out to be the worst of human beings.

Vandana never replied to this mail. She didn’t reply to any of the mails which followed. Anand on the other hand was totally lost and confused in love. He was no longer able to differentiate what his emotions were for this girl. At times there would be lines of love in his mails, and sometimes he would be so spiteful, it was as if he was breathing fire.

Finally, Vandana broke her silence, and came out with words. Her patience has run out and she decided to end Anand’s misery.

She wrote, “Anand, I have decided to get married to which ever guy my parents decide for me. In the past few days I have seen you turn from my lover to a person I do not know and never would want to know. I will no longer use this mail id, so there is no point in mailing me anymore. I have decided to change my number. Your calls and messages have harassed me far too much. I don’t want to explain why I decided to have this relationship ended. I will pray to God. Goodbye.”

And with this, the final nail in the coffin of their love story was hammered.

***

Anand read the mail the next day, sitting in his rented flat. He got up, smiled and went to take a shower. His work was done. The world had suddenly changed.

Life is not fair always. It sometimes brings you loads of love and then takes away all that joy in just a moment. The raging fires of a broken relationship would burn any couple.

For Anand love was everything. He wanted Vandana to stay happy. Forever!!! It was easy for him to ensure this as he knew Vandana inside out. Just one more thing needs to be done.

After getting dressed he sat down to write his Own Obituary,

Dear mom & dad,

You have loved me all my life unconditionally. You have given me everything that I ever asked or dreamed for. And no matter how big I grow I will never be able to repay your selfless love. I loved one gal whom you could not accept. I never gave you a chance to stop me either. I am sorry for that. I have brought so much hatred in her heart that she would never ever love me again.

But I will still love her. If I needed you people to help me learn how to walk, I needed her to help me feel the ground I tread. I am incomplete even if one of you are missing form my life. I do not wish to live an incomplete life. I don’t blame this on you or to her or anyone. I blame myself for not knowing what love and life is.

Goodbye. Your son – Anand.

PS – I have given all the colors of my life to the gal I love. If my death can make any difference, try knowing her once.

Gathering his stuff, he packed it in a bag, crossed it over his shoulder, started the bike and headed towards the canal. He reached the edge of the canal and went overboard. As he went into the air, his whole life, his love, his parents went past in a flash. He had a sense of satisfaction and a smile of his face. It was the shade of white…

He hit the water.

***

The next day, the newspaper had an article on the Anand’s death. The bike was recovered but the body was never found. Anand’s parents were heartbroken and depressed. They never thought that a decision taken by them almost a year back could kill their son.

Vandana was shocked and she broke down the moment she got this news from her brother Amit. She cried for days but soon she realized Anand never understood her love and carried on with her life.

***

A year later…

“Vandana beti, get ready. You take so much time.” said Vandana’s mom.

“Ma, let Rahul wait for me na. I am getting married to him. He should learn and realize that I take lot of time to get ready.” said Vandana happily on the occasion of her marriage.

The marriage was organized on a large scale as Vandana’s parents were well known people in the city. Somewhere in the crowd was a boy who was crying as well as smiling. He came to see the colors in Vandana’s life. From now on his life was a shade of white…

Author’s Note

All throughout the narration of the story there was one things missing. What was that rationale because of which Vandana took the drastic step of ending their relationship? I tried hard to know Vandana’s side of the story. But my friend refused to tell me that and asked me to promise, never to ask her about this. One slight mistake and the painful effort my friend has taken will be gone for ever.

As for reasons why Anand left his parents, I never asked him and I don’t intend to. Its okay to keep some of the dark, painful emotions buried forever.

I do visit my friend once in a while and he still loves Vandana like he used to before. I hope being his close friend, I learn the word, no its not a word, the feeling “Love”, after all his shade of love was always red – not with anger, but with warmth.

Plausible Deniability

My friends are always concerned about my health. Some will ask, how you are these days. Some will ask, what and where are you eating these days… But on of my friend came up with a totally different question… Rather a discussion… A philosophical one! She was worried that the workaholic creature I have become, will some day succumb to the workload. And all this for what? All this is what she said…

Sometimes I feel all this is so pointless. Why stay away from the people you want to be with, your friends, family etc. All to earn a few extra bucks. You earn to be happy and we finally forget this very fact. We leave all that we like and go away and then really miss them and worry about them. Why? Why do all this? What if you suddenly needed someone and no one was around to support you and take care of you? Ideally you should have been able to go home to your family, at least some friend who will really take care of you.

We spend so much effort in building careers, sacrificing so much and to what end? What would you remember years later? All the time you spent in office, away from everything you wanted to do and be with. I'm not saying that you need to have fun all the time and throw away your career. No, that is equally important. But how do you find that right balance between actually being happy right here and now, and pursuing it relentlessly so that you can be happy in the future.

You once told me that you are not into philosophical discussions but these questions are so fundamental to our mental and physical wellbeing, yet when did we ever stop to think about it? Does anyone ever think about these things now? Or do they just follow the herd, endlessly chasing that elusive end, catching a glimpse of it now and then which keeps them hooked till at the end, they realize they have been chasing a mirage all along. But by then it’s too late. They are already in that one state that they have dreaded, loneliness, then they finally realize that the view from the top may be great but there is no one to share it with.

Never mind. Hindsight is a great thing but servers no purpose. All of the above statements are also futile. They may make you think for a minute or two but then, after that we start rationalizing and therein lay your true enemy. Self denial is the truly the greatest asset that humans have…

A discussion… Few words… A minute of consideration… Then we all go back to our work, never giving this a second thought… All we can this is - “Plausible Deniability is a type of lie that requires preparation as to avoid anything we don’t feel comfortable about…”

My Friend -- My Inspiration...

My life lacked a special friend,

In you I found someone on whom I could depend.

My soul yearned for love,

You came along and brought me heaven from above.

My eyes sought an unseen face,

They met yours' and in them I found eternal solace.

My hand reached out into the unfeeling world,

You took it in yours and a multitude of joys unfurled.

My heart longed for that love and care,

That your companionship has taught me to share.

My entire being wanted a sense of completion,

Your love happened to me and became -- My Inspiration......

AT TWO

I was two years old when I first stepped on an airplane. For a two year old it’s a very huge object and loads of people rushing in. Initially it was a tough task for my mom to make me understand that it’s not a monster ready to gobble us all. After creating much of ado, I managed to board the plane, but only in my dad’s arms. Oh! And one more thing, I used to think my dad was HE-MAN. So the monster won’t be able to do anything to me if I am in his lap. My mom actually had to bribe me with Cadbury chocolates. Human nature!! We give in to taking bribes at so early an age.

<>

<> The year was 1984; none of the current private airlines were operating. The only airline present was IA and air travel was a privilege. Thankfully I got a chance early in my life to travel from Delhi to Bombay (Now Mumbai). To a two year old kid these things hardly matter. To him, all that matters is that he is going to a new place with his mom, dad and his elder brother- on an airplane!

<>

<> As soon as we boarded the plane, its enormous size freaked me out. I clung to my Dad very tightly. My brother (aged 6) was teasing me and it perplexed me more. Being in such a frantic state, how annoying it is when an air-hostess comes and does a “Googly Woogly mush” – for all who don’t know what it is – it’s what every one likes to do to a baby with chubby cheeks (or better still, watch the Ponds Cold Cream ad ) – I got irritated, but somehow managed not to cry. Instead, I started to become curious. My world had so far been limited to a 3 bedroom house and the lane we used to live in. Today for the first time my mind was exploring new places. Ludicrously I pointed at a fat man sitting right ahead and tell my dad, “Dad that man is even fatter than granny.” My dad had to apologize profusely to this fat man for my behavior, as he did on several other occasions, to many different people, for many different blabberings of my kiddish mouth.

<>

<> Mom some how managed to keep a check on me till the plane was about to take off. As soon as the plane started moving towards the runway, the devil in me started playing tricks. I suddenly unfastened the belt – oh I was smart enough to learn how to open it - and started jumping on the seat. Annoying loads of people with my voice, I shouted, “We are going in a plane, we are going in a plane.” The look on my mom’s face said it all! My parents always followed that logic of not scolding us in front of others; I used to get it once we reached home. This saved me from a certain bash from my mom – dad never used to scold me or beat me - HE-MAN doesn’t beat the good guys – Right...?

The devil within me was still not at peace, fighting the seat belt which I was certainly not allowed to open anymore and the stare which mom gave me after the dance I did just before take-off didn’t quench the devil’s thirst for a little more mischief. Now I, already in limelight, was getting special treatment from all airhostesses. When the candy was served, I was told I could pick as many as I wanted!! Ahh... the fruits of childish paradise!! The prospect of getting loads of candy filled me with a malicious glee that made the devil within very happy. Fate, however, didn’t favor poor me! With such small palms, it was very hard to collect loads of candy. Here, too, the benign treatment continued as the Airhostess helped me to load enough candy to fill my ample pockets (My outfit had a “bugs bunny” pocket on it – the cute ones we all had when we were infants – which was now filled with loads of candy).

<>By the end of the flight I had done all possible mischief like repeatedly asking for candy, standing on the seat, dropping food on my clothes and talking animatedly and continuously. Finally, worn out by all the hard work, I fell asleep like an innocent angel in my mother’s lap, while cruising through serene clouds in my dreams oblivious of the mischief I had just wreaked.

<>

Author’s Note

<>

Author would like to share that he was brainwashed and was not able to recall any such incident before the age of five or six. He came to know all this when he was told again and again on those innumerable embarrassing occasions (something like ‘thanksgiving’) when the whole family used to sit and discuss his childhood mischief.