Ride of my life

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious.

Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental

But what if they weren't, will then this story (or a part of it) be yours or any other person who has fallen in love once in her/his life. As I begin to narrate this story in first person, the scene is set in balcony of my daughter's house. I am a retired professional, 80 years old, rocking in my chair as I see my teenage grandson coming from his school on the back of his girl-friend's scooty. He is a charming young boy and has a very sweet friend. My daughter has already accepted my grandson's friend as her daughter-in-law, but the mention of such funny topic sends my grandson in fits. My wife will take my grandson's side and defuse the whole situation. And yeah my Grandson is yet to convince his father to get him a two wheeler, until then he continues to accept ride home on the back of his girlfriend’s scooty. At least now the generation doesn't talk about the macho part, unlike our times where friends will be really really mean if we ever sit behind a girl scooty. In our times the story was always the other way around. And here I begin the times where I actually realize how many times, just how many times I have done it.

I was small, around 3 yrs. old. Mostly this part of the story has been told by my parents in front of friends and relatives to just embarrass me. I got my first tri-cycle. It was red in color, had a Ferrari sticker in the front and made me into nothing less than the race car driver. Our neighbors’ daughter was a year older than me and whenever they would come all I would do is convince her to get in the back seat of the tri-cycle. But all she was interested was the food and Barbie dolls. It was on my 4th Birthday (1yr since I started), when she came over and I was dressed in brand-new clothes that I managed to convince her. And boy, I was happy. I took her around the whole house, showing each and every one that finally she agreed. I don't remember her name now, but I remember the story being told over and over again.

I didn't stop there. Studying in boys’ school, there was an air of freedom of being boys. Talk like them, walk like them and be care free. I was a late learner in case of how to ride a cycle. 2 cousins and my brother had to help for me to ride the cycle for the first time (without the support) in 4th standard. The first time I drove alone to a shop to by bread, butter etc for my mother, I managed to trip and fall on top of a girl who lived nearby. She did get mad of course, but we ended up being friends (like in the movies, where the girl will first call the guy idiot and then fall for the same idiot). In this case it wasn't so melodramatic, but it was a friendship which I still remember. She and I were of the same age, going to the same grade (but different school). She belonged to army background and in 2yrs her father transferred to a different town. We cried, we hugged and we promised to stay friends over letters, but we moved on in our life.

Getting into the 6teens, 7teens and growing through puberty without the knowledge of it was even more interesting. No one talks about puberty the way it should be. We just understand from elder brother or gossip magazines how the male-female mate. We pretend that we are shaving our beard though we have only a spec of facial hair, we pretend to grown biceps/triceps and are the macho sport star which every girl will fall in love with, yet we are scared to even go up to one and talk to them. From clothes sent from relatives-abroad, to electronic gadgets which actually belong to dad, we were into showing off. Getting the amazing gear-cycle with horn shape front bar and thin tires was another master piece. This time it wasn’t the urge of having someone on the handle-bar or the back seat. It was the urge of having someone, either walking beside you, while you hold you cycle and walk with her or going/coming back from tuitions alongside a girl. There were some rich boys on motor-bike, showing it off, but from the time when my girl-friend preferred holding my hand and I managing to walk my bike with other used gave me what I always wished for. Especially in winter when she will be cold and my hands will be extra warm and our breath visible in the chilly-evening.

Yet life moves on; heart-break happens; priorities shifts to getting into college. The race of education… And thanks to elder brother you get what you truly think is the only think which can impress a girl - Motorcycle, especially if it either belongs to HONDA or is the new PULSAR. Every college has this PMC (Piya Milan Choraha) and that is where we singles will zip pass our bikes, until one of the girl in college falls for us (not because we have bikes, but because we have brains to respect and listen to them). Long drives to cafes, dropping her off to hostel, getting drenched in rains or just sitting in college parking lot on the same bike. Every single moment has been lived to the fullest.

And so we pass college, we started working in MNCs. Lucky are we like many others who belong to part of India where jobs were available, our average brain was respected and could be used in running major projects. And as we grew in brain, job and age our requirements increased. Bike was just not enough anymore and hence we move onto a car. But either it is filled with office late-night drops or drunken friends for whom you were the designated driver. Sometimes concerned female employees also request for drop and the seat next to you will joyfully fill like the conversation which followed. In one of those drops, in one of those funny conversations “The” girl felt she is with Mr.Right. My hand which was maneuvering the gear-stick was touched by the softness of her palm and her head tired from the long meetings and work in office, tilled and rested onto my shoulder. From that time, the seat next to me hasn’t been empty. We found each other.

And as I see my Grandson once again, standing with her girlfriend next to the scooty, I look towards my right, rocking in the chair next to me is the same girl, who first clasped my hand, kept her head on my shoulder and said yes to me when I got down of the car and went on one knee. How my Grand-son does it, is his story to tell; how I learned and finally did it was all I wanted to share.

My thumbs tell a tale

"It is raining outside...", said the quite boy in side on the far side of the room. "Yes it is raining outside. But what else do you notice if I ask you to close your eyes and try to remember.", I asked playing with the kid. Closing his eyes immediately and jumping in joy, the kid replied, "The water puddles on the far end of the road, the small little bird trying avoid rain and pick the insect of its beak. The old beggar, the same old who sits there every day, asking for change, the droplets on the cars parked outside..." "Wait...wait, wait.", I interrupted. "Let me see if I can remember all you said so far and find out where it's happening", as I got up from the small chair, wearing my specs and moving towards the window. What I realized it that no matter how many times I come and go by this orphanage, the kids never stop amazing me. I didn't see any of these things. All I saw waste traffic and the noise it was making. I did actually see not just felt the noise everyone was making like the guy in yellow shirt on his scooter trying to honk even when it's a red light. I didn't see the beggar, because I choose not to. But the part is in my last year of joining this visit, I've felt like this the place where my heart find its rhythm. This is the place where my mind hits the snooze but and puts the feet up. I was born and brought up in a rich enough family. I never felt shortage of anything. Also my parents not only gave me the "everything" in the world but also the gave me the average brain so I could live my life in peace. Earn enough for me and my family. Few years back though everything changed. My wife and I were expecting our first child. A miscarriag left us broken. It consumed my wife so much that she left her job, became a house wife and got herself into everyday chores. I had to fire the cook, the maid and year back my car cleaner. She instead on everything. Her mind was so adamant that because she cant provide our family a child of our own blood, she needs to be punished. I realized it too late. All I did was what every doctor told me, give her time to come out of it. Loss of child takes years to heal.I believed in them and went about my life. On a similar rainy day when I came back from office I waited for two doorbell before I opened the house with my door keys. There on the floor she was lying peacefully, in a pool of blood. Next to her was the picture of the first sonogram and a note,"May be in next life. But in this forgive me for doing this. I want to be at peace." All she could have done is shared, but I don't blame her. Now I spent most of my free time in the orphanage. I will pick a book from a friend or from a library and sit in the kids play area reading and watching over them. They tell me stories of how they want their parents to be, not all of them but some of them. The most basic God given right is to open eyes in ones mother's arm has been taken away from them. Some draw the same emotions, some speak it through their tears. They are God's angel with broken wings but they are the one who are letting me live rest of my life with as less pain as possible. A little girl, who is just about to be a teenager in few months asked me why I don't bring my wife. To which I replied, she passed away and is now an angel in the sky. She looked confused, then like an elder, came to me, hugged me and ran away to play with other kids, but sometimes looking over her shoulder. She reminded me of my wife, how she helped me out with any bad news. Secondly, she acted exactly how people in the orphanage had behaved with her. She liked to be left alone after a bad news and that is what she was doing. These kids, they have a world of their own. And as years passes by, as I grow old, waiting to meet my wife one day, I wish, when these kids steps in to our world, it is still a place to live in. ***END*** This is a fictitious story and took lot of effort in writing. First story that I wrote using my iPad and hence the title. Secondly, it was to check how good the new google blogger interface works with iPad.

Rewind'2007 - Tribute to 5yrs of service @SAP Labs

30th March'2007

Around 10:00am

Voice: Hello, Is this Arpit?

Arpit: Yes, may I know who is speaking?

Voice: Hello, I am Om Band from SAP Labs and have received your CV for post for Developer.

Arpit: Yeah. I had applied through consultant company and they had informed me about probable interview...

...continued my interview with Manager from SAP Labs. For me it was a strange as he asked almost nothing technical, difficult as I was giving first interview in 2yrs, since I have joined Infosys and upto some extent relieved that every question he asked me about the project I have been working for the past few months.

At the end of the call, I was informed to wait for response from the Management team. 

Around 1:00pm

"Let us go and watch a movie", I asked my friend over the phone.

"What happened to your interview?", questioned my friend. 

"The phone call went fine. Now the management will call...all I can do is wait. Still if we hurry up, we can watch the 300 movie show @ 3.", I replied... 

...and our batter continued till we agreed to meet @Symphony theater. The conversation was really in North Indian Hindi, most of which varied from where to eat and which of the friends in college who were couple are no longer together!!!

   

Same day around ~6pm

"Hey keep the phone with you and in case it rings, let me know while I drive." I asked my friend, while I dropped him to his house. 

"Yeah, sure! Hoping you get that call", replied my friend.

...20mins later, at Jewels D'Paragon traffic signal, as we crossed towards the mink square, the phone rang...

Arpit: Hello?

Voice: Hi, I am Ms.xxx speaking from SAP Labs from the HR Recruiting team. We have selected you for the face-to-face interview. Would you be able to come for the interview tomorrow?

Arpit: I am working in graveyard shift in Infosys, so it will be hard for me to come tomorrow, can I come on Saturday, 2nd April?    

Voice: That is fine. Please make sure you are here by 9am? 

...and so the conversation was over and I was so much excited for the call from SAP Labs. For the reason I don't find import to share, I had to change from Infosys! This was the first company I had applied and was still thinking whether to apply anywhere else. I got the call and was exited. 

2nd April'2007

...The interview happened in three stages. Two technical and one HR round. The first interview was taken by a lead (who name I have forgotten sadly). I was happy with the first interview, because the experience in Infosys not only helped, but one of the technical problem which we faced in our 'Kraft Procurement System' was asked to me during the interview! 

The second round was again by Om Band (yes the same person who took the tele-interview). He came up with the standard Manager-asking-technical-question. What is difference between so-and-so? What has higher performance? etc etc

The fun-bee was the manager round by Abhishek. After the general questions about what he thought of me (read between lines: Am I insane enough? Or insane overboard) I was asked to told my three good and bad things. I had already prepared five (even though some of them weren't completely true). The last part was funny though, when asked if I had any questions, I asked tongue-in-cheek, "What is the dress code in SAP Labs?". As coming from Infosys, which keeps it's developer in FULL FORMALS for 4 days a week (including 2 days with Tie), it was more out of curosity. Abhishek replied, "Yeah there is a dress code - Please wear something and come."...took me a little 5-6secs to really react to it.

9th May'2007

...First day in SAP Labs...Scared & Relaxed at the same time! Mostly spend the day loitering in the campus and learning about the policy. Induction was on the way and we were taken to 'Palm Meadows' for the beginning of our journey!

9th May'2012

...Beginning of the 6th Year in SAP Labs. Entered office with my regular time of 9ish am. Got occupied immediately, fire-fighting the same way as for the last 5yrs. Left late in the evening...seeing the changes that has happened in Labs and in my life, I walked to the back gate, where my wife came to pick me up! Life has changed, we have grown old! 

Time Flew!    

Ignorance is bliss

Another loss, another moment of despair, from the highs of 2011, to the lows of 2012, Indian cricket can really take us on a rollercoaster ride of emotions. But for few it really isn’t so bad. They get on the rollercoaster when the team is doing so good, even my 90year old granny knows it and the moment the ho-ha around the game dies down, they are off. One of the examples is my wife. For her ignorance is bliss. When she consoles me about the loss, “You aren’t playing there? Why the sad face?” I wish she could understand what Rahul Dravid said at the Bradman oration. Every victory in cricket, fought hard by 15 men on/off field, is a victory for all who had, have and will have the never ending love-hate affair with the game. My wife will not understand that while she sees only loss in Sydney and the second loss of the series, I am thinking far ahead about the loss that might come our way in Perth, considered to be the fastest wicket in the world. The feeling comes from the knowledge of the game, though we wish for nothing short of a miracle.

Her ignorance about the game is what will give peace to a fan. But we all really can’t change our self. A game which has been the blood-stream of the entire nation, when people came out to street to celebrate our world cup heros (2007 and 2011) as if the next day, Bangalore won’t have traffic jams (actually it was Sunday after 2011 victory, so the traffic jam would be worst, a day after) or whether the corruption will reduce a bit. Every single thing will be the same only the joy of being called world champions is like sweet nectar. Still any loss hurts the same way, be it 1996 WC semi-final or 2003 WC final. We need to take the sweet and the sour together. That is how the world famous Thai curry is made and that is how the love of our game is.

I feel sometimes I could so easily shrug off the loss, like my wife does and move on. But how can I do it for the game which has left so many imprints on my life. Twice I broke my teeth, one got a swollen eye, bloody nose from fast bowler bouncer, innumerous times hit in the groin and finally a broken finger (still crooked in shape) which finally told me that the love can’t always transforms into talent. The imprint of the first cover drive of the fast bowler at school, imagining Rahul and not Sachin standing next to me saying, “Keep doing that for a million times and then little more and you will get there.” Or when I took my first dismissal as the school keeper, imagining Boucher patting on my shoulder and saying, “Nice catch, but you got lucky the ball stuck in the glow. Don’t get up fast, stay low so the movement is much better. Watch the ball till it thuds into your glows”. These are dreams while I soiled my clothes for my school team or when I played for my company’s team (for whatever brief time it was). The feeling of your team mates hugging you tightly because you have pulled of a miraculous catch inches of the ground, the feeling of the last ball thriller where you run out the batsman when he need one run to tie the game, these are memories flowing in our blood stream. My mother used to say, “As a healthy kid, you rarely had fever. But when a close match is going on or Sachin is nearing another hundred, you seems to have 100, 102 fever”.

With age we get attached to so many new things & we let go of something (like driving a bike), but if there has been any constant in life, that got to be Cricket. From as early memories of Hero Cup semi-final & final in 1991, to the World Cup in 2011 it has been two decade of heartbreaks, tears of joy and loads of “jaadu-ki-jhapi” with friends. I was alive when India took the first world cup in 1983, but of course at that time I was more bothered about pooping, sleeping and getting fed. West Indies came just after the victory and white-washed India in a five match series (or was it 3, not sure). History was bound to repeat itself. This time the location was reversed and of course a different team. India won the world cup in India, but got a white-wash in England. There are so many such incidents which remain in our subconscious and to ignore them just isn’t possible. We are somehow have been injected with the bug of “cricket”. There isn’t a remedy to it, even if it existed, none of us would take. It is the talking point in coffee corner, screaming scores across our cubicles or tapping a total stranger at the transit lounge to check the match score on his laptop (did that at Qatar airport while returning from Europe when I missed the first 2011 WC India-Bangaladesh match)

In times to come, our heros, our role models will retire. Dravid, senior to Tendulkar will be remembered as one sticky jam, who has dug deeper and got India out of the hole so many times. Laxman, the nemesis of Australia, will be remembered along with Azaruddin for his flicks against the turn, especially against legendary spinner Warne. I can’t say anything about Tendulkar, our own Demi-God. Like in my religion, we only pray to GOD and not discuss about his way of life. He and only he know what it is like to charge down the track to McGrath and hit him out of the ground. Only he knows that even a sand-storm in Sarjah can’t prevent him from hitting six against the wind. May be in time to come the game ‘cricket’ can be renamed and called ‘SACHIN’ or may be the ‘cover region’ will be called ‘sachin region’ in future. And when he goes on to score his 100^th hundred (we waiting), once again I will be screaming on top of my voice sachinnnn…sachinnnn, knowing that ignorance isn’t bliss, it is feeling of the game (now delivered in HD) which completes us all.

- Written on the 4^th morning of 2^nd Test between India vs Australia 2011-12 series.

My Eclipse Development Tips

Here are few tips which I learned while developing RCP Application for my dad:

1) How to make RCP application open in full screen?

In the default RCP application which eclipse provides as tutorial, there is a class ApplicationWorkbenchWindowAdvisor which extends WorkbenchWindowAdvisor. Override parent class method and add this single line:

public void postWindowOpen() { /* Opens the Application in Maximized form */ getWindowConfigurer().getWindow().getShell().setMaximized(true); }

2) If you have made RCP application from scratch, you will see the VIEWS don't have rounded corners. How to get all VIEWS have rounded corners?

- Create a file plugin_customization.ini (at the same level as plugin.xml) in your RCP application

- Add the line "org.eclipse.ui/SHOW_TRADITIONAL_STYLE_TABS=false" into this file

Note: Remember to add this file to your build path, other wise while running application from eclipse you will get rounded-corners but when you export it as a product, you will once again get it same as square corners

3) In Javadoc you want to change the value of @Author tag from say your company employee ID to your own name?

Eclipse takes $user.name environment variable to put the value the @Author tag in the java doc. To override this behavior you can add the following line into the eclipse.ini file

-Duser.name=My Name

More to come later...

Accidental Love Story III

All people are slave to routine. From the time we are born, to the time we die. When niece was born last year, I saw them in different moods. Sometime she is happy, sometime naughty and mostly helpless, trying to go somewhere. That also becomes a routine and we all know till she start moving around, until then she poops, she eats and she sleeps. Mostly dad & mom will say, “What else they can do…”, “that’s all they can do.” And I generally reply, “Are we any different?” We join the Indian education system, which hardly changes. I went to the school for the straight 12years. Then I went to college for 4years. It is debatable whether “change is the only constant” or “routine is the only every lasting habit” in our life. Another routine with the modern metro-lifestyle is to buy our vegetables every weekend in the nearby super market. With fat purses and dangling MNC badge, we are the slave to the urbanized mode of everything we purchase.

Saturday morning is for waking up after the five days of slogging at the office. The cool morning breeze always brighten ups the day. The morning chores are slow and sluggish. No hurry up to read the newspaper, no quick showers and no skipping breakfast. Saturday begins with a warm cup of tea to pair up with the newspaper; warm slow shower or a tub full of water. After which my cook will make a nice breakfast which will be around 10am. A little chit-chat with him and noting down the list of items to be purchased in the morning and hence my routine of weekend begins with a lazy trip to the nearby super market.

The beautiful part of the trip to super market is how they stack up all the items neatly in rows. Even though some of the things are absolutely rubbish, just because it is neatly stacked up, we go ahead and purchase it sometimes. And when I make the lazy walks around the aisle, looking at unknown faces and stocked up trolleys a warmth apparits by the magic created by the supermarkets.

In all this routine, in all this warmth, someone sneaked into my life. When we have busy plans, life is one that passes us by. In my case, it was life which was making plans and was passing by the lanes in the super market. As I rounded the corner of olive oil, my thoughts pre-occupied with the list of movies which are playing in the theater, I bumped into the person ahead of me. She gave a short yell and then collapsed onto the ground, holding her ankle underneath the pink skirt with a lace boarder line. She turned around to scream at me, but somehow she couldn’t. Balancing her spectacles, she gave me the ugly glare. I removed the trolley out of the way and bent down with tones of apologies. It was an honest mistake and even though the evil-me was smiling for bumping in a girl, I was right now more concerned if she has not broken something. All along my stupid mind was thinking that picking her up will be like one of those romantic slow motion Hindi movie scenes; but it turned out to be opposite. She was so mad that as soon as I held her hand to pick her up, she dug her nails deep into my forearm. Biting the pain, I still managed to get her up and balanced on her two clumsy feet.

She said with a smile, biting her tongue, “the nails were for the bump. Now we are even.” And she walked off towards the counter to checkout her shopping items. While we were busy in bruising and falling, we both committed a silly mistake. While she carried my trolley to the counter, I too didn’t realize that the trolley and the content certainly can’t be of my preference. But the battle of the trolley and the nails wasn’t over yet. Nibble it may seem, life has some great moments. Few turns and picking up sports magazine, I entered the very queue she was checking out her (actually my) stuff. Just because of the huge person standing between us, I missed to see her, with her matching purse. But then I heard the same voice, stating it is a mix up and it is not her trolley. I saw my shaving kit and the sets of vegetables I have picked up, in the trolley next to her. It was then we both realized the mistake we have made. Suddenly I jumped the line; tapping her gently on the shoulder and saying, “Excuse me, ma’am but you went off with my trolley. Here is your trolley.” The smile was back and so was the glitter in her eyes. The fuming cheeks few minutes ago have turned into blushing plus dimple scenery. A quite thank you came back.

She checked out her stuff, while I waited in the queue, not one moment taking my eyes off her. She kept on looking back in between to check if I am still around. The person standing in the middle hand a bunch of items and while he was checking out, the girl in the spectacles was standing next to the rows of trolleys. Even without words, we were saying so much to each other. While her eyes said, “I am sorry for the nails and hopefully I am not stupid, standing here waiting for you.” And my eyes said, “Just hold on for a minute, while I get my items checked out. There is a coffee day round the corner.” As soon as I came out of the counter, she smiled and thrust her hand out saying, “Hi! I am Tina.” I smiled promptly and replied, “Hi! I am Alex”.

The conversation was initially apologetic, then cordial and lastly casual. The time taken from the “Sorry” to the “Oh, you too like animated movies” was all I needed to conjure the words, the charm to ask her for the coffee. After all, a leading chain says, “A lot can happen over coffee”. And when I finally say, those words, “Would you like to have a cup of coffee”, it felt such stupid, like I blurred rather than saying it in a charmed way. May be the stupid, boyish charm made her say yes. And we took our bags to my car and we drove to the nearest coffee shop. I wished I had kept my car a little tidy but sadly it wasn’t with all office papers littering the back seat. She didn’t mind much and added that she isn’t that tidy either.

The coffee tasted good, but the conversations were even better. Like minded people bumped into each other and now share the likings in books, movies and software profession. She was a content writer, working for MNC and was slave to the similar routine. Gladly she was also happy with the break of routine; meeting someone out of the blue. We exchanged numbers and a feeble promise to call each other. Neither of us was sure whether to call the other or not to.

As we headed different direction (she refused to be dropped back home and I didn’t prodded much) there was the hope of silver lining and the warmed of the spark. Some way love has found a way into our life or may be life planted the seed of love in our busy routine. Whatever it may be, it has happened.

I waited two days on a friend’s advice to call her. First think she said, “What took you so long” J

Our Life

7th Oct’2010

Every morning over my regular cup of tea, my wife and I discuss our daily work schedule. As my wife is more addicted to sleep, I often read her the headlines of Bangalore Mirror. As I turned over to today’s newspaper, it brought back the memories I have of the IT industry. When I started around 2004, BPOs were the major attractions for young breed of men and women. Even though I was not working in a BPO, somehow my lifestyle mapped to BPOs’ lifestyle. Starting my work around evening; coming back home the next day; having dinner in night-canteen or dingy food-courts, etc... One of the only benefits with this lifestyle was to get away from the bad traffic we all are accustomed in Bangalore. While the whole city, tired and frustrated, returned to the comfort of their home, we start our journey to office and while the same tired faces starts with wet hair and hot head towards office, we are yawning and heading home in the yellow-plated vehicles.

Yellow-plated vehicle, the cabs provided by our organization for picking us and dropping us back. A few hours of journey, few laughs with our buddies and lot of calls with our Managers on the missing reports, this is what we remember of the time we all spent together in the cab. Sometime even comparing like a kid who has got a better cab for this week or this month.

And today when I looked Pratibha Murthy murder case conviction report by the fast track court, we all know how it has changed our mindset. Earlier even though most of my female colleagues were cautious about when and with whom we are traveling back, yet we all were naïve of problems we could have faced. Sleeping on the way back home, talking over the cell-phone with our loved ones and not knowing which path the cabbie has taken are some of the common mistakes we all did. Our company enforced us to have the cab driver number, but most of us didn’t have the hotline number our company had published number of times. To add to the pile of mistakes, the guys always used to think it is a problem for the women and they should be more responsible. As friends we failed number of times to make sure they aren’t the last to be dropped. Time and again such incident shows us the real value of life. But we fail to learn, “Someone has to die in order for the rest of us should value life more”. Kids are piled in taxis and they go to school, yet we are waiting for a time some accident claiming an innocent child’s life. Every day I see the Volvo bus leaving Whitefield overloaded beyond capacity, yet we are waiting… Our life deserve more attention, it is precious!

***

Our company has organized a Creating Writing Contest where the participants have to come up with a story based on the QUOTES provided by the organizing committee. The QUOTE I have picked is marked in BOLD and this is my first entry in the competition. I might just send more... let see how much creativity flows when pen-paper unites.

The essence of victory!!!

Though I have kept cricket out of my blog as much as possible, it is hard to not talk about the learnings I have earned after watching yesterday India's thrilling 1-wicket win against Australia. To start with I have to honestly accept that after watching cricket for 20 great years the game still gives me goosebumps and the tension like I had when I watched the HERO CUP semi-final against South Africa. Somethings doesn't change and similarly the passion of cricket has lived all these years in my heart.

But yesterday's match brought out a array of emotions about life. To start with is self-belief. In time of pain, in time of anguish some of us start to doubt once ability. Even though our abilities are still the same, we have the same range of shots, a small pain can bring doubts in our mind. Laxman demonstrate just how to over come physical shortcomings to play to his true potential.

What was more interesting was Laxman's approach. Things were much relax for India when they required 90-odd runs with the last 2 wickets remaining. Relax because no one expected to win, the opponents were smelling victory and hence the pressure on Laxman and Ishant was really less. Laxman grabbed this slim opportunity and injected slowly confidence into Ishant by giving him all the strike. When we, mortals, sitting on our computer were fuming why Laxman is giving all the strike to Ishant, it was somewhat a calculated plan to make Ishant get his confidence. And as India reached closer, it was not harder for Ishant to play the bowl but for Aussies to dislodge him.

Even though it is just Cricket jibber-jabber, I learned the true value of trust. Irrespective of a player having an ability to perform certain activity, if he or she is part of the team, TRUST is of the utmost importance. Also from any team-players point of view, earning this TRUST is very important. We go about doing our duties every single day as an individual, but at the end we impact a team. Team can be our family, our friends, our colleagues.

At the end, when things were hanging to a thin-thread, Laxman had a low moment in an otherwise great innings. Losing his temper and an otherwise cool head Laxman gave viewers a moment of laughter. We all (especially myself) should at all time keep in mind that everyone are not the same, we all think differently, we all function differently.

We can take away so many things from yesterday's match. We can sit back and read so many articles on this victory...somehow somewhere while reading all these articles, I felt there is more than what meets the eye. The real essence of victory...our learnings!

Soul Mate...

The Greek Mythology says all mankind had four legs, four hands and two face. Zues feared the power of mankind and split them into two equal halves. Condemning them to a lifetime of searching for the other half...and hence the stories of Soul Mates began. No matter how true this story is, the search for the ideal soul mate keeps us all in hope to find our better half. Or should I say the other half.

After being marrying for almost an year, I know it is the other and also the better half. Being an arranged marriage it may not sound I really searched for my soul mate, yet somehow, somewhere there lies a connection, where her hands knows what to do next. Her face changes the expression to match my facial expression. Not only that, I feel the power which once feared Zues now exists in my home. The problem is the power scares me all the time too (lol). In a way we all know Zues was also scared of the power of women. And men, searched time and again to bring the real power at home.

The love of a soul mate bring together a number of changes...like an erratic half of mankind suddenly gets inspired to perform and work in a much organized manner. Now my clothes and my laptop have proper location at home.

Another of these change in the level of stress one of the half used to undergo. It has reduced immensely. The whole stress got diluted with the coming of another face. The lines on my forehead are smoothen when the curve of her smile shines upon me. My never ending words which were lost in oblivion suddenly found solace of her ears, punctuated with noble words of wisdom. The tears which had dried on the cheeks without any meaning have now the comfort of the palms to fall into. A place where it leaves a footprint of my pain, preserved forever.

The story of Zues which might have looks so absurd has suddenly become so meaningful. No matter how much our mind say its stupid, our heart wants to agree to it. Maybe there was a silver lining to what Zues was actually trying to do...He knew mankind takes everything for granted and wanted to show the power of a soul mate. We all lost something when Zues split us into two and after years of struggle we found our better half...our soul mate!

Rewind'1996

15 years is a long time to pass by. Time has change, society has change and above all we as individual have changed. Once, dressed up in all whites, month of July-August were used to be returning to school after summer break and now, it is the usual office hours, waiting for weekend, waiting for next public holiday & waiting for the Diwali/Christmas break. As I was driving to office, few school kids, dressed in those similar whites were just about to jump into the bus. One of them caught my eye and took me to the summer of 1996. The kid had a tennis racquet, brand HEAD, in his bag.

Tennis, my first love, my first medal and my first shot to fame in school. We used to have every year intra-school tennis championship. Draws were generally made by our school teacher who used to favor the bigger boys of sports. Still these things were part of the game. No game is fair and we were prepared to meet the tough guys well ahead, so they get to play with each other at a later point of time.

My first tournament started on a very strange note, I was not facing any of the top-senior players. When the draw was posted on the our school notice board, all my classmates were excited. For the first time, I was supposed to play under pressure (as my classmates expect me to win) and was a clear underdog, whom the senior fear to play. It was really a blessing in disguise. I was happy that my opening game was against my friend, with whom I have practiced a lot. We knew each other game in-out. My backhand was stronger than my forehand and he knew it.

The one match of 96, which I can't forget is the semi-final, where I was up against the last year runner-up, Kunal (senior by a year). A chubby fellow, yet a fit one. I was no match to his serve or his shots, but I had the never-to-say-die attitude. Due to lack of time, it was a best of 1 set match i.e. first to reach 6 or more games with a lead of two wins. Down 1-5, I was serving 30-40, match point; a simple lob during the point gave Kunal the easiest shot to close the match. Strangely he messed up the point by giving it back to me. I can still remember the sensation in my hand and the thumping of the fist, when I saved that match point.

From there on, it was a new story, one I wrote and also etched in the memory of my classmates. As my doubles partner was standing in disbelief, I held my server to go 2-5, broke Kunal 0-40, to make it 3-5, held my serve with 2 aces down the line to come inching close 4-5. The next game was the one which made me most happy. Kunal had lost his temper; one of the line calls where he left the balling thinking was out, was called in by the line-umpire. There was lot of name-calling and high temper, finally calm down by the organizer. After number of deuces, finally I took the game to level 5-games a piece.

The match which had started at 5 in the evening had already gone up to 6:15. Lights generally starts to fade around 6:30-45 and hence the organizer, who himself was staying back just to watch this battle in disbelief, proposed to play tie-breaker. It is a school tournament and rules can change easily. Kunal had already given up and tie-breaker was no challenge. Easily I raced to a 6-3 point score and then the biggest irony happened. I too got a high volley and was a smash away from victory. I too hit it miserably and the ball was going way out. Sadly for Kunal, his body had taken too much pain/strain and it hit flush on his tummy, awarding me the 7th point in the tie-break.

As I enter office, parking my car, the smile on the face was for the past, the taste of winning that semi-final and also hitting one of the snobbish seniors who mend rules at will. Victory does taste sweet :)

And yeah before I end, I lost the 3-sets final 4-6 6-4 6-2 to Kunal's doubles partner, Shivam. I was the first from my class to go on the podium for the yearly sports championship in our school. I wore all white, a new dress while receiving my first of many Tennis medals (a Silver).

What's going on!!!

Cricket gives me the most amount of pleasure when it comes to watching TV. I am not much of TV buff apart from the sporting events. Asia cup saw the favorites Sri-Lanka losing tamely to a well controlled Indian team. Not really disappointed with the final result. For a change it was good to see all the stars playing like one.

But really in Cricket, Football World cup & Wimbledon, something has gone really wrong. The teams/players who are supposed to play the best are playing the worst. Italy and France bowed out in the first round-robin match. And when I saw Italy yesterday, it looked like they had something against their goal-keeper, letting all the opponents through and testing the goal-keeper skills. Quite a horrible show from the world champions.

If football was something about the new guys, has anyone checked out the new kids in Wimbledon? We are having matches which have score line of 70-68 (something like a basketball game) lasting 3 days...On the other hand we have Federer and Nadal fighting hard to survive. I have accepted in the past that FedEx is the best and I am still a fan of Nadal, yet I don't want anyone else to defeat any of them. I wan't every grand slam to be a Nadal vs Federer finale. Nothing makes it more interesting than the top seed battling out for glory. The two battle between the top seeds at Wimbledon, have been the greatest tennis match since the rivalry between Sampras and Aggasi.

With Football WC entering fourth week and Wimbledon into its second, I hope to see the favorite fighting it out and showing their class. All the best guys, may the best team/man win!

Happy 4th Month Anniversary

I have written a number of love stories, read many books with love letters, but somehow I find a common problem men are always in, "How to express one-self, the feeling of love for wife, after marriage?"

We both don't belong to the American age, somehow sandwich between the two Indian generation, one the conservative and other the liberal gen-Y or gen-Z, it is stressful to expression feelings. The word Expression itself is changing these days, from a more emotional, eye-to-eye contact to more physical, grab-me-&-kiss-me. How I feel, on the 4th Month anniversary of our marriage is a little difficult.

To start with technically we don't have exactly spent the 4 months together. She worked in Delhi, why I moved around in Bangalore; phone being our only connecting point. Yet, we know so much more about each other than what we learned during our courtship period. But the one feeling which I had from the moment I felt saying yes to this girl, till date is I have found a really supporting friend in her. She celebrates my happiness but at the same time keeps me grounded. Not once she has let me gloat in the moment of happiness too long. And the best part is how she comfort me in time of sickness, mentally or physically.

With all difficulties I find the true word to express her is really, A FRIEND. I look forward to evenings now for a change, I find standing in the kitchen helping enjoying and yes the feeling when she will grab my arm and wrap her hand around it, says that she will be around me.

Love is an art, which has many lessons, like drawing. One day you are sketching the next day coloring.

We started 4th months a journey with 7 promises to our ancestors & blessings of our parents and family as Husband and Wife. Now after making back & forth trip, staying away, hours of phone calls and then starting a life together, I know we are true friends.

HAPPY 4th Month Anniversary, My Dear!!!

Time out with Harsha Bhogle

Everyone gets to meet the favourite stars ones in a while, IPL gave me opportunity to see Sachin, Harbhajan and Zaheer in Mumbai Indian colors and 25th May marked my first closeup meeting with Harsha Bhogle. With the new locks of hair covering his past, jokes about Cricket, Tiger Woods to great sayings from the past, Harsha brought the house down as part of the Leadership Talks which my company organizes.

To start with let me sum up the 10 important points which he explained us. These points are very simple, basic stuff which we all know, yet somehow during our workload, problems at home and under stress fail to acknowledge:

#1: Practice: A picture of Ricky Pointing fielding was painting the picture correctly. It is the small 1% of easy things which distinguish the great from the good. An ability can remain an assets until we keep practising. That is why Ricky Pointing hits the stump more than any one in international cricket.

#2: 100% Effort: A picture of Anil Kumble reminds of the umpteen times we saw the big fellow from India giving his max. Harsha said there is no 110%, 120%, but only 100%. We can't give more than we have, can we? A contradiction from how our assessment is done in IT industry. Every company have policy to measure employees who have performed more than 100%.

#3: Adapt: Saurav Ganguly facing a bouncer presented us the most difficult question. For a personal choice it is the most important one. Number of times in our career we face conditions not at all familiar to us and we are expected to perform. A person who can "Adapt" to all conditions, how or away (something like football), will excel far more.

#4: Being part of a winning side: Ricky Pointing and Michael Clark, the two Aussies smiling after collecting the world cup medallion. Harsha compared Asharaful (Bangaladeshi) and Clarks career, stating they started same and yet they are world apart now. Being part of a winning side will prepare anyone how to react or how to even act when there is chance of winning. It is all about the attitude, body language. Personally, representing myself in Cricket teams in the past or standing on the Tennis court, I know how it feels to win and hence I enjoy my game more now.

#5: Thierry Henry: Personally I am not a football crazy hence know little about the strategy; so will post what Harsha said, Why Henry is such an important cog in the wheel because he not only will score for you, but also will provide opportunity for others to perform and score for his team. Something like when a team is presenting some project, not just the team lead takes the opportunity but also allow team members, developers to stand up and present.

#6: Badge in the front is far more important to the one in the back: True, very true. Something I have seen in the movie - GOAL, Chak de India. For a team game, like life, work and almost everything we do, personal goals are met by working towards the team goal. It is really easy to follow this point at office (personally), because I always have a personal goal outside office work/time. Keeps me happy :)

#7: Celebrate Individual Success: Dada, hugging all the India team members after successfully taking a wicket gives me a headache. It is hard to do this in professional field, cause Infosys has taught me to be tough competitor. And the hard crust of competition on me, makes it very hard for me to enjoy other's success (of course it has to be something I was looking for). For the first 2yrs of my professional life, I saw people will do anything to just beat you in the appraisal or to get the new project. My new company has changed me a little bit, yet the remains of the early learning still puts me in a difficult position. That is why I said, Adapting in all condition remains the tough task.

#8: One-man Team is a bad combination: Jersey # 23, Micheal Jordan. Six Chicago Bulls title, three in a row. That is how I remember him from my early days of childhood. What harsha told us could be added to the memory. Before Chicago Bulls became the all the superstar team of NBA, the coach said, everyone in the team expects you to score and hence everyone is not performing. There is no "I" in the word "Team". MJ, replied accepting all the coach has said. You are right coach, MJ said. But the problem is "I" is bang in middle of the word "WIN".

#9: Improve Constantly: Monty Panesar was shown in the picture with a line, "Are you playing your 33rd Test for the first time, or your First test for the 33rd time." A very important line which reminds us to improve every time we work. Something my Senior Anirudh told me soon after joining the company. He said, "every few years there happens a paradigm shift, some try to adapt to it as and when it happens, some wait till the shift completes and some never do. The one who are really ready to handle it are the one who knows will be a paradigm shift and are prepared for it." It was a light comment during a boring training. I know I have tried over the years and will continue to try.

#10: Attitude + Passion + Ability = Success (may be) : If we have the right honest attitude, we have passion (irrespective of 5yrs into the job or 20yrs) and we know our limits and our abilities, we may churn out a recipe for success. A picture of Sachin to end the presentation, Harsha said Sachin is not just the ideal of being a great cricketer, but also a benchmark for a better human being. He was not made my God with an Ability to score 100-hundreds. Sachin has worked towards it, with Attitude, Passion and the nurtured Abilities.

Sometime it is easy to understand speech from people like Harsha, due to the Religious like belief towards Cricket. I can go on and on with this post, but I believe it is sufficient for the time being.

Note: Sorry the points may be out of order.

'A' for Afghanistan

After the long taste of IPL including the visit to Bangalore vs Mumbai match and the bomb scare, the thought moves to the 3rd edition of IPL T20 world cup. Any of my blog on cricket can talk about all the fine aspects of things happening on the field, yet somehow I was moved by these new bunch of folks to all the discussion off the field. In the absence of some favourite stars like Sachin and Sehwag, I was moved to notice other things. Rather than praying for a Sachin's straight drive down the wicket for a four or a Sehwag's brute-force shot over point for a six, it was to see how the world and news can change.

Charlie Wilson War was one of the movie which made me research about how Afghanistan was built. These are people who don't want to give up, be it the Russians or the Americans or the world of sports. I am not judging whether it is for the good or the bad. As the match between India and Afghanistan about to start, for me it is a big change in the scenery. They being in fore front for all the wrong reasons; now these Eleven big men will take the field defying all odds. For the first time my heart is not racing and pumping in tension whether India will win or not, but craving for a fast T20 match where both teams give the fight till the end. Not because my loyalties have yet to change from Mumbai Indians to the Indians, not because of the absence of Sachin, but because Afghanistan boys have come a long way to show that to win hearts of millions once again a sport, the old fashion kit of a ball, a bat and few bricks as stumps will give us... A for Awesome, A for Afghanistan.

All the best and may the best team win.

Face Painting

Delhi summer heat has always been difficult to combat. The traffic makes it worst. Pollution, cars honking and the dry wind, takes out the freshness of anyone’s skin. I have been working in a MNS for the past 4 years; have traveled most part of the world and enjoyed most of it. Still coming back home gives me pleasure unimaginable. For years together, from the days of boarding school, then college, it has been always a warm feeling to come back home. It is the one place where the heart truly lies. Then how did the summer heat and the vacation back home become part of my life? The answer is my Wife. Every year, Pragati madan, holds a festival of colors during the summer heat. Bright blue, flame red and lots of other mixtures of color attracts the college crowd. It is an unusual event. Not the regular festival kinds where it is a festival celebration or a car show or some other kind of expo. It was a way when students from different walks of life come together and paint their own life in shades of color. I met her in this festival, how did I manage to find a total stranger in a bunch of overly eager, hormonal imbalanced teenage college-goers? Well hard to explain…may be I can.

The invitation was a casual one and I was selected because of the anger management course I had joined recently. In hostel I had been a bully and this had turned into a major concern when I reached college. Beating up, getting mad at others was part of my daily life style. Some serious warnings and one suspension left me no choice but to take professional help. Initial diagnostics indicated that it was due to lack of parenting in my life.

Since 8th Standard, when a boy starts to learn the basics of outside world’s life, I was shipped to boarding school. My father, captain on a naval ship and mother busy with her high life of living standard couldn't manage parenthood for long. It turned out that I was a mistake for which my father celebrated with his colleagues on a ship on the other part of the world (some where in the pacific), where as my mother cursed the day she actually feel trapped to my father’s wishes. Nannies, relatives and some junior school teachers were the only solace in my life. Even though money was not a problem, I still manage to stay away from any bad habits, like drugs, alcohol. It was mainly because of Elizabeth, my nanny till 7th standard. I cried for her and she cried for my love when we were separated when I was sent to hostel. Her letters were the ideal way to pacify a child’s mind and give him a satisfactory reason, why parents can sometime give birth to a piece of lump and forget to take care of them? Never the less, she came to when I passed my school with flying colors, walked me through the college gate like my school days sweetheart and was the only friend when I partied late into the night on my graduation day.

So anger management was where I had reached because of the hidden anger and fury which my parents invested in all these years. Elizabeth came with me for the first meeting after I was enrolled in a group of folks, who like me, belong to a wealthy family, reasonably sane and also believe in the getting back to the main stream of life without the necessary baggage of anger. The course went okay; I made some new friends and started listening to lot of worries. Everyone used to sit in a round circle and will talk for 3 hrs every Saturday and Sunday. So 6hrs of therapy (or should I say discussion as we were asked not to say it therapy) fixed me to a certain extend. What my mentor/sponsor, a senior member of one of the group who had similar issues, realized that it was not just the missing link of parent-child relationship which has made me a angry freak; it was more. I had not enjoyed my life so much as I should have. I used to open and close down very quickly. What he pointed out was the enjoyment was only when Elizabeth was around me. He actually sat and demo us both. I was suppose to celebrate my 22nd birthday (a year since I joined the anger management course) and Elizabeth and my sponsor, Andrew, were the only people joining me. Andrew called up Elizabeth and asked her to tell me that she won’t be able to make it to the birthday. An instance burst of tears down my cheek and then some hours of consoling by Andrew helped me; yet I was mad, angry though in a controlled manner. When out of a blue Elizabeth turned up, saying she somehow manage to ditch everything and come over, I was glad. Even though it was final year of college, a girl-friend couldn’t be as important as my date with Elizabeth on my birthday. She had grown old; she was sixteen when I was six. She had no children of her own. Her husband died due to cancer. A resolute lady who always kept me away from her pain and tears, yet was fond of me as her only child. The day after the birthday bash, Andrew explained that I need to make my friend circle bigger. Elizabeth will not be around for ever and we both know it. Some point time I will have to move on with my life. We both were happy that we knew the real problem, yet we were sad knowing there is no solution in sight.

The team of anger management colleagues found the work Andrew has done with me; identifying the other few root causes of my problems. Generally a breakthrough is expected around a yrs time; a little slower but we still managed to get some results. Hence the team said, may be spending a month time, away from college, where my anger gets triggered quickly due to lack of friends and in a cultural event of a unique kind may help me. Elizabeth, like my childhood-nanny cried again and packed me with all the goodies for the new world. A world with colors, a world with imagination, a world where I will not only find a solution to my anger but also the person who will whisper in my ear that she will love me for the rest of my life.

July 1st, that’s the day I reached Delhi. Even though my house was few kilometers away from the ground, yet we all stayed in the tented dormitories provided by the cultural society. I was sharing my dorm with 5 other guys, Flute (Arun), Hammer (Aamir), Spoon (Keshav), Iceberg (Sandy), Auto (Piyush). I was the Sandbag. We all had nicknames, part of the culture we develop over the one month period. Every name has a meaning, like Arun was an amazing flute player. We had no difficulty finding that nickname. Sandy was the deep emotional guy; most of the time silent and only speaking when required and hence explaining or completing any conversation/dialogue. We referred him as the tip of the iceberg. Keshav was a easy child among our group; always easy to bully, fast to cry on things and the kid of the group. We name him spoon because we didn’t want to call him lot of other names. Piyush was one Car and Bike freak. You speak of a brand and he will probably tell you all the brands, release year, possible colors in which it was available and even the engine details. We had to call him Auto for his automobile-brain. Aamir and I were the fighters of the group. He will punch and I will not bulge, this was the usual trend. Together we were an amazing gang. Initially there were few hiccups, few fights but in the end we all became friends.

The one reason we were all together was none of us had any experience of courting a women. Yes, we were 20+ yr old men and none of us had the courage to go and talk to a girl. Flute and Iceberg were too cute and silent for any women to get interested. Flute was always mesmerized in his music and that made it little hard to get any women’s attention. For all the others, we were scary dumb-asses. So finally one night, like the many where we chatted while painting the most horrible art work anyone can do with paint, we made a color-pact. Everything in this month was supposed to do with color (except our nicknames) and hence the color pact was to pick girl and try honestly to court her; no flirting was accepted. One should be honest and serious about the approach. Any help if asked for will be provided and hence keeping the sanctity of color we were supposed to fix a color everyday in the morning. Pink was the only wild-card color, but any other color can be picked. For that day we are supposed to find a girl dressed or probably with a makeup for the same color we have picked and talk to her if possible (aka if we were able to). Because everyone’s color is different we won’t come in each other way. A very strange way but yes we were bunch of strange boys/men.

A normal day in the event will start with nature based breakfast where we will be given mostly raw vegetables and brought close to the nature and the variety of colors they come in. I didn’t know that capsicum came in so many colors and also taste really weird when eaten raw. May be the number of years on pizza made it sure that I like capsicum only baked and laced with cheese. Soon we will be in batches and groups, roaming around the ground where different color based activities, like painting a canvas, extracting natural color, dying cloth or even face painting. For me initially none were so interesting, but soon I picked up the ability to extract color neatly out of the different vegetables and fruits etc. Also, I managed to make unique shades of color by mixing ingredients. It was like cooking a recipe. Now all processed colors needs to be shipped (aka carried) to the people who have taken up face painting. Flute used to be good at the face painting job and he used to call me when ever he is looking for some special color he may be thinking. So on a Friday, he called me up and said, could you get me peach color and then went on explaining that it shouldn’t be pink and shouldn’t be orange. And I said, my color for the day is peach and hence I know what it looks like. Soon I manage to extract the color, process it and reached over to his section.

On my way to Flute’s table, I stubble and knocked one of the girl’s hand who was face painting a child. She had like finished a dozen of children face painting with lot of different designs. The problem which had just been created due to my accidental knock was that all the children were part of a play and her princess was the last one to be painted. As no other child was available for face painting and the princess will take hours to wash off the paint, it became a sort of a public, noisy issue. Thankfully only the princess cried. In all this mess, I didn’t get a good look at the girl who was actually doing the painting. But after consoling the little girl, I turned around to one mad painter; I realized that the job was only half done. She was not only the artist of the play but also the director. Probably a mad artist can be handled, but a mad director, this is something out of my league.
Number of apologies, Flute also joining in and explaining that I am mostly absent minded. We tried for almost 15-odd-minute before she had the wink in her eye; kind of the one which looks like more trouble is coming my way; she proposed that I should some how manage to make sure the play doesn’t get ruin. In the mayhem I promised anything to avoid the wrath and also to keep my anger in check. As the director she proposed that I get my face painted and join the play as a replacement. Thinking this as not a bad idea, I joined in and flute helped me with a quick supply of razor. With clean cheeks and oily nose, this girl, Swati, started her art on my face. After some final touches, she handed out me a dress; about which she silently had asked her roommate about. As I opened the parcel it was a really big yet skinny dress of a princess. I picked up the mirror in dismay only to find that I have been made a princess. My face was all pink, my cheeks were rosy and the lips were dark red. Pointing out that yes, I am the main princess of the story. I start to rebel, but it was too little and too late. The plea fell on deaf ears.

A little girl whose play role I had ruined came and happily explained me all the steps I need to do. I had like a pinch of time to learn everything for which she might have practiced for days together. Also as all the kids reached my belt height, I had to do this kneel-down. Flute, Hammer, Spoon, Iceberg and Auto took around a zillion pictures of me dressed up as princess, because my built was manly, I had to wrap a scarf. Also a blond wig was added to give me a British touch.

Swati had a mind of her own when she is planning a rehearsal of a play. Kids or old, everyone was given a specific task. I saw how the kids obeyed and synchronized themselves on her command. No later my hands and body in the very hideous dress also started flowing. Some 3hrs later, she was confident that I too will do no poor role. The curtains opened to a burst of laughter as I tip-toed on my knee to the center of the stage. An announcement about the replacement of the princess and the reason behind it made my cheeks actually red with the gush of blood. But Swati was a magician, on stage and off it too. She came out to act as the wicked wizard to capture the princess only to fall in love with the eyes, once she fell for them. All the kids around us were affected in some way or the other by the wicked wizard. I, as a beautiful princess of my land had to fall in love with the wicked wizard and release my people from his evil magic. Every kid will come on stage, say his and her story, the princess will listen patiently and every evening somehow manage to convince the wizard to release them from his spell. Love on stage, in those 30mins, made the wicked wizard a full romantic human. The warmed of love had finally reached the wizards wand through the touch of the beautiful princess.

The play was an instant hit and all the parents came backstage to congratulate her. The kids were amazing and even the kid who was supposed to be the actual princess hugged me for being so beautiful on stage. She didn’t miss the play as the beautiful magician introduced the rolling credit where the little kid came and said everyone’s name. My friend gave my name as Sandbag and so Swati started calling me sandbag too.
Peach was my color of the day & was also the base of Swati’s face painting. This was no coincident; Flute knew it and had used up this opportunity to paint her in peach. After the act the gang of 7, Swati included went down to the café, where we managed to know each other well. My friends were sweet and sneaked out of the group pretty quickly only to leave us alone. Love may have never struck a couple like this before. She will giggle at all the jokes and she will make fun of me at every possible opportunity. Any reference to the play means my cheek will go red, even though the paint was washed away long back. Yet by the end of day, somewhere, in some words, I realized that there was a lot of grief hidden in her heart. She will stop in the middle of words only to change the topic. She will giggle, yet her eyes will somehow move away from my face and somehow I felt her eyes moisten too when the reference of my parents came. Every topic, every discussion was about me. From there on we spent most part of our day mixing colors, painting canvases with the mostly ugly paintings (she thought that I shouldn’t be embarrassed if she draws something amazing). At the end of the day, I will go back in my room with my face painted. All the friends knew I was the first one to move out of the pact. My life was full of color everyday and they were all mine for the rest of the month.

Swati had never discussed her heart with me. The dark corner where the blood burns was seldom touched. But one day she asked me to join her for a walk outside the campus. It was unexpected and all along the way she was silent. It was a long bus journey where her face said that it was not the time to speak, not the time to ask question. Sitting beside her was the only task she had asked. After some 3hrs, we reached the outskirts of Delhi to a school. Somewhat a special school because kids here used to study and live. It was an orphanage. She was a part of it.

I was sitting outside in the playground watching kids playing when she returned from the principal office. Once a month she comes here to give some charity. A college student, a part time worker in theater, writing short scenes for big shot directors, she is a woman with lot of mysteries. One of the kid told me that she is amazing in dancing too. I wanted to ask many questions and I wanted to know lot more, but when she returned and tucked her hand under my arm, I knew the touch meant something very simple. Pain may not be shared by just words. Sometime it is difficult to explain and also answers question. And so we all choose silence and the warmth of touch. Her eyes were moist and all she needed was my shoulder to keep her head while we headed back in the bus and my shirt which may try to soak not only her tears but also the pain she has never shared before. The pain of not having the knowledge of who her parents were and never having the hatred with which I have lived for so many years for my parents. She didn't even resolve my anger problem but explained me with silence.

At the end of the month long event, the organizers promise a big cultural event, but due to some management issues, it got cancelled. We had a quite dinner where all the different friends we made (and few enemies) came together to had grilled, baked and spiced up organic food. All the friends were a little dejected yet were happy for both of us. Flute and Hammer though saw me a little stressed out and tensed. Hammer came up to me and asked, "What happened, you look terrible?". I knew this was bound to happen sooner or later that my emotions will be become part of my facial expression. Swati has not yet said anything. The touch, the visit and after so many laughs, we were still strangers in love or were we? The doubts were many and I replied Flute and Hammer about the same thing. Flute consoled me and said, "None of the guys feel like that. You two are make for each other and are so perfect. And if you have your doubts, ask her explicitly. Don't leave it for the last minute. The moment you see her tonight, just say it". No matter what Flute said, I had my doubts. It was still very hard to say anything. She might had found in me a friend and not a soul-mate. Was it really an accident or just my imagination?

Dinner was all-whites and as I walked down from our tents to the meeting place, open air ampitheater, I saw her, walking down the steps. The lucknowi-work suit and the crips kalaf-duppatta, made my heart skip a beat. She looked nothing like the girl I dreamed of, cause my imagination would never be so beautiful. She walked towards me with a smile and the same glitter in her eyes, which once made me play the role of a princess. Coming close, she hugged and said, "Thank you...for everything you said and what you didn't. Something I know you would never be able to say and I know how much I want to hear it to. My soul-mate, I love you." & with those words, she planted a kiss on my lips. I felt the warmth of hands touching my back. I knew the stress and tension leaving my body and her love flowing through my veins. She had given lot more than what I had come here for.

All of the 7 gathered together and one by one everyone spoke, giving toast to our friendship and my new found love. A month, few hard-headed, soft-heart creatures as friends and an accidental painting fiasco compiled my month in the cultural festival. Elizabeth met Swati a week later. The way she first saw her, I knew I had the approval I needed to make Swati my life partner. Elizabeth came up to me and asked me if she could take up the right to announce this news to my parents. I replied, "I have not known my parents as much I know you. Swati wanted to talk to my parents, yet I had asked her to wait. You and only you should tell them and hopefully on your request they might join when ever we plan to get married.". Elizabeth smiled and blessed us both. That day, somehow, by mistake or by chance, I did full-fill her wish to be my mother.

Swati and I courted for 2 more years, till we finally tied knot in a small ceremony. This time though, I didn't wait for her to make the start. We flew down to Delhi and took a taxi to Pragati Madan. I thought, where we started our friendship, should again play witness to where we start again as Husband and Wife. All the guys joined in our wedding and as to remember the time we had, came with all their face painted. My life from days and night had changed to different shades of dawn to dusk. Elizabeth, Andrew, my parents and my friends, together wished us as we started on our journey... JUST MARRIED.

The courtship period...

"Why do you come to the same park every sunday grandpa" said my 12yr old granddaughter.

I am old now, slow and at times also forgetting what I am about to say, but this was one question which I can answer even while lying in my grave.

"To meet your grandmother, dear." I replied to my angel. As I see her, eyes just like her grandmother, the only beauty she got from our side. Didn't expect her to anyways look so beautiful with our son's look. Thank to our daughter in law, she is both beautiful, like her, and strong headed women even at a young age of 12.

"But grandma has been dead for so many years, yet you still come to this same park." she replied and immediately realizing what mistake she has commented.

"I am sorry, Grandpa, I didn't mean that. It is just I didn't understand how you are able to meet her here, when she is no longer with us. You know, I miss her so much." apologied my angel.

"No need to apologies, when you know your mistake. Rather than giving the apology, give a promise that you will try not to repeat this mistake again. It is much harder than just saying you are sorry." were the words of wisdom from this old man.

Sometimes when Abby, my granddaughter, tries to apologies, her face turns red the same way her grandmother would do. When she either made a mistake or would want my yes on some topic she thinks I would say no. How sometimes our genes skips generation and you get a not so cute son, but a very sweet and charming granddaughter.

"Dear Abby, your grandma left us all and yes we miss her always. She was really special in so many ways. I still remember her giving birth to your father and the first one to cry when you were born. But the story I will tell you today is what your grandma and I wrote long time back. Almost 40yrs back this story was written. A young couple, met for the first time as lovers in this park." I said to my child, whose eyes widden on the secret and a story dated 40yrs back.

"Really Grandpa. I didn't know you both had written story? And how come this park is 40yrs old. It was constructed recently. Dad brought me here when it opened. And he said, finally we have something close to our home where sundays we can relax together." said my angel.

"Yeah, this was not a park where I met your grandma. It was a mall or the hyper-complex you call it these days. There was a coffee shop and we met there. Your grandpa had come down from his home town to meet your grandma and to talk to her. Trying to find out whether he can find some similarities, so that they can get married. Your grandpa was not well that day." I revieled to Abby.

"A mall?" quizzed Abby was. "If there was a complex here, why the broke it down? Wasn't it a good one. And what you mean by meeting her to find if you can get married? Didn't you love each other already?" so many questions and the answers were mystery for her.

"Yes, I had only met your grandma once before when my parents took me to meet her. At her house. It was you may now don't here, but an arrange marriage." demystifying Abby's questions.

"Oh! Yes, mummy has told me that story many times. Also that you were totally against dad's mom's marriage and it was granny who kept her feet down and didn't allow you to argue. Were you scared of granny, grandpa?" teased my devil-angel daughter.

The secret of all men scared of their wife is not much of a secret now days. Even a 12yr old knows how much it is easy to control a married men. Probably that is why they are so messy at times, because they can't control life, so throwing tauntrams in this way suits them best. Anyways, ignoring my child's teaser, I told her that the story which her mother has said needs correction. I watched as the digital vendor rang the attractive alarm for children to run to the vendor. A solar powered, fully automated, ice cream vendor. Where were the bicycle ridden screaming vendors gone.

"So grandpa, how did it go when you met her here? Did she boss you around even here? Who won?" Abby said, waiting for the reply.

"Walk me over to the ice cream vendor. Lets sit down with the ice cream and we will talk it over. Have you taste the vanilla ice cream? It is still best after so many years." I continued the game by not replying directly.

As we reached to the vendor, grabbing Abby's hand, the warmth of her hand reminded me of the first time I shook hand with my wife right after our first independent meeting (without the supervision of our parents).

The dream was suddenly broken, when Abby with mouth half filled with Ice cream, said, "Grandpa, do you know, Vanilla is also my favourite. Mom always said I could never eat any other ice cream than this." ask she licked her fingers tasting the melted white cream.

"Yes, dear. I know you don't like anything else. Even I love this flavor..." breaking away the sentence in the middle, hinding the fact, I started eating this, since she passed away. It reminded me of her cold hands on the evening strolls right after our wedding. Always insisting it is good for health. Something I regret now; had I not been in good health, I wouldn't have to live life alone because she moved on in life.

"Now Grandpa, stop playing games and tell me why you love to sit on this park bench every sunday; Grandma must be watching us over and saying that your secret is safe with me and you should probably share it with me as soon as possible." were the child noble words

"You are old enough to understand that after retirement, after your grandma passed away, it has been difficult for your grandpa to do everything. Eating on time and passing time everyday has been hard. Your parents have helped though all the time, still it isn't their job or obligation to do it. So how this old man, who find it hard to get up from his bed some days, find solace in the absence of reason. So the first sunday after this parked open, I walked to this seat, I felt like the days after your grandma and I were engaged. The courtship period! Time when we both will spend hours talking to each other on phone, still not be able to meet regular basis. I felt your grandma talking to me again. She saying things which she will say during those days, getting annoyed because I was not keeping my health and she will make sure I am in much better health when we are married." I continued...

"Grandpa, you miss her na. So many years you were together, you did enjoy each other company. So did you fight during your courtship period? Who started it?" asked Abby.

"Yes, we did and as always it was my excessive protective nature which got better of my judegement. You know how I am worried when you are not back home from school on time. Similarly your grandma didn't inform me she was tired and slept off without tell me that she has reached back home from work. We learned something about each other everyday. My memory is foggy, may be it was 10 or 11th Jan." I answered.

"But why the courtship period now? You know her much better or better than anyone else. Wouldn't you say this is different? After all you have a challenge in loving me also and I am sure grandma got competition in me" said Abby, competing my love for her and one for her grandma.

"Yes, Abby. Your grandma will be jealous. But it is the courtship period because like last time I am knowing life lot better than before. It was a period when life changed with her presence in my life and yet it has again changed with her absence. I started caring about stuff more and now I do it again. In her presence, I used to leave it as her job to make sure everything is fine. And you will find that marriage which happened then and my demise which will eventually happen, will again unite us. This time once for all." I replied with a little sadness in my tone.

"Please grandpa. You know, I don't like you talking like this. Come lets go back home. The story and the secret was one I will keep for ever and wish someone like you find the way to my heart too." winked a young 12yr old girl.

For a 12yr old girl, knowing the meaning of true love may be hard, but not understanding our love. Though my thoughts sadden her, I surely was sad missing my wife. My wife left me, when she should've been helping me walk to the park. Some how, some where she again wanted me to work towards my health. I have started writing again, which she always loved. The one time when she was said about leaving her house before the marriage, one of my story was only to make her smile. Morning and evening walks, milk and no-junk food are part of my strick routine now. May be she is again talking to me like the courtship period (really it is my daughter-in-law who has forced all the rules, knowing how much my wife has told her). Reaching back home, as my granddaughter took me to the breakfast table and discuss the complete sunday plan with her dad, I looked over to the digital photo frame to say goodmorning to the love of my life.

On the sideline...

Couple of times in the shower, while driving car, this thought comes again and again to my mind, the female specie has done so much for us. I fail to put one single point that defines when they play the best role. As a Mother, to give birth to us all..Sister, to hide us from dad's scolding..Lover, to share the park bench...Wife to start a whole new chapter in our life and eventually as Daughters to taught us how life will come a full circle one day making everything a memory. Yet with all the memories together I fail to figure out that the fairer sex never has the dying spirit. Of course the critics will argue that they are the one who will break our heart and be the women yet hating another because latter has come into her child's life; but this is not about the critics or me finding a way to point their excellence. This story how men should recognize them, like the extras in the football field, are standing at the sidelines seeing Goddess at work, making so many moves...like a admirer admiring the strokes of a painter.

Yes, it is a story about these Men...the one who ate the apple (and blamed it probably on the only women around then). Who is scared since the time they pop out of the vagina that they suppress the one they should care. Based on my own personal experience, things that have gone wrong, with my mother, with my sisters, with my ex and sometimes when I say something to my wife, I was always scared to accept the facts (doesn't matter what they were). From the sideline, I thought I was screaming the right thing. But was I? Somewhere in those screams, I missed what I should have seen! May be I would have learn a thing or two.

Another fine example which life has always thrown at me is how women make far better managers that men. From my first company, to the current one, the female managers been better. Come-on guys, saying that you are more in numbers at this very post doesn't make you the better one. Windows is available in most of the computers, doesn't mean they build a good software (as a matter of fact, now that the topic has come, Windows sucks). They know this art of handling people and my gut feeling is that they don't win over the challenge cause they know how to handle kids. But it is the exact opposite of it (or that's how I feel). Probably they see stupidity faster than men and change things far better. Yet we men, on the sideline fail to acknowledge this fact.

Life is a race, everyone is competitive, you make fewer friends when you are at the top; excuses and more excuses. Life is not a race but a journey, the moment one realizes it, either they are side in the balcony and watching their Grandchildren play with toys or in a old-age home finding what mistake they made while raising kids. I surely prefer to live 80 yrs of slow journey, rather 60yrs of fast, painful race. Competition is something we create around us; siting the fact that the other person performed better than us. No, it is us performing not to our capabilities. Even though this is little off the topic, I will dwell down to a personal attitude while stating why competition always affect me a different way. I get frustrated and excited when someone isn't performing and I have to take up the job. Because I at that point failed in my goals. My goals which has the only competition as my past performances. People are better than me, they will get ahead of me - I know this. I can do better I know that; I only wish I remember these words every time I get frustrated. Where does the women come into picture - how do you see them swifting to another location after marriage even though their current life is what they want. Competition with the containment of knowledge that they are their own competition and yes they can do better, where and what doesn't matter. If work changes from a 8-to-5 job to a 24/7/356 wife and mother; so what? they still manage and do it much faster better and yes as usual thankless. You make fewer friend when you are at the top, only if you forgot to share the knowledge you gained while your growing days. Don't make yours obsolete, make yourself more knowledgeable. Someone taught you, he may have done out of ignorance, (see again I said he...damn..could have been a she - right) because her boss said to do it, yet you gained the knowledge. Keep gaining and passing it to the people who come (I have learned this lesson very recently) and you will never become alone and obsolete. Cause you have the chain of knowledge. If you stop giving it, you break it; If you stop learning new stuff, you still break it. I love this very part in women, the knowledge sharing one. They don't stop teaching us. How to tie shoe-lace (first i can remember, though walking would have been before that) to how to find when she is angry and how to patch up. Thousands of way she will teach you to do things...I know my job more than my wife, yet she will tell me, "alll izzzz well, you will get it". She taught me at that very tense moment not how to do my job, but to smile while I am tense.

There is an evil to every sane side. Like every happiness sees the downward curve of sadness; sometimes at the sideline I have seen the low ends. From both men and women alike. It is fine we don't respect women most of the time; probably thinking they need us more emotionally then we do (which is wrong most of the time) but to hurt them in the most unethical manner. They are really not a baby-vending machine; nor are they maids. Men shows real character by how he treats every women around him. Women when evil can be really dangerous. Riping someone heart is really not so evil; na it is part of the risk when two people mutally agree to some time together. Worst is what I have known is when they hurt each other in form of mother-in-laws:daugther-in-laws. May be this happen more in my geographical location, yet an evil women is more dangerous than any men.

There are mostly no conclusions to these thoughts...they linger around as I roll my car into the office parking slot and cease till the time I reach my space. What ever we do in our area, on the sideline, if we remember to take one clue out of the female book of care and guidance every day, probably things will go more smoothly. This is not a tribute to any women, or to impress some chick @ coffee corner. I have a chance to move from the sideline and play the game of life (aka marriage) and I know if I love her less, than it is not because I have some problem, but because she can love me far more than I can.

Reason To Cry

There is a tear in my eye,
Yet you wont see it unless I cry...
For the pain my soul carries I could die,
Yet I smile for you with a simple lie...

There is a tear in my eye,
Yet you wont see it unless I cry...
For the dark in my past, I ask the God a question Why?
Painted my heart black & blue the color of sky...

There is a tear in my eye,
Yet you wont see it unless I cry...
Kill my demons, spreading my wings let me fly
To the golden gates, up above so high and high...

So now there will be no tears in my eye,
Unless you give me another reason to cry...