One hell of a man

I am writing this blog sitting in a TNSTC bus. I am on my way to Chennai . But this should not stop me from writing about Vidyut sir. I have seen umpteen number of numb posts in various blogs in which people revere their role models. I am afraid that this post on Vidyut sir should not create a 'one-more-blind-praise' kind of a sense. One of the greatest virtues that I learnt from my Vidyut is to disrepect the venerable. Thrash the so-called 'established' ideas.

He had a Lambretta scooter.. a spanish guitar in living room. He reads Mir publication books and normally smokes in the terrace. I had some of the most important lessons in life and science in that little terrace. I dont want to make a statements like 'I owe him a lot' 'He showed me the way'. Certainly, he would not like me to write such things in my blog or diary or whatever. He told that there is a door and that I should apply some force to open the door. I opened it and I saw the world. 

I met him when I was 20. I joined the college and I took a single room avoiding the hostel. Vidyut stayed in the room nearby. He was a lecturer in Physics department. I was doing BSc Zoology by the way. He was 10 years elder to me and  a divorcee. I never have asked him wheather he has kids or some mundane questions like 'How do you kill loneliness?' . I had always thought that his days were worth more than 24 hours .

'Life should go on' He would say lighting a kings cigarette. And as the smoke engulfs his face he would furthur say Richard Bach`s take on Life. The illusions.

I once read his diary. It was a shameful act. But I could not resist myself from getting to know on what goes in backgroundof Vidyut. It is just a breathtaking note of a practical individual. 

I once asked him about relations on earth.. It was those days when I had a crush with someone in my college. He said that if you believe that the relation will work out then there is no point in hesitating. I had not got introduced to that girl before. The next day, I said 'Hi'  to her. She is now in US doing masters. I usually meet her in g-talk and our conversation  normally starts with the usual 'Hi'. In was just of few chats in our college canteen, I got to know that its just a crush and then the wonderful episode of friendship blossomed.

I left my college jobless. It was a cruel phase where reality hit a harsh blow on me. Vidyut never cared about me being jobless. I read Bach and Capra during daytime and in nights I used to go to terrace to see the constellations. We used to go for a late night tea in my motorbike. (I had a IND-Suzuki then).  All he gave me those days were some puffs of cigarette and the freedom to take any books from library.

What is big reason for me to write this long post sitting in a bus,  Where already a thousand eyes have peeped into my laptop screen looking into what I am doing.

This Vidyut is getting remarried. One hell of man he is.

Mr.Mani and Me

We can easily get a cycle for rent if we go with a reco and a SOP (statement of purpose). Mr.Mani is kind enough in that aspect. Despite being a owner of a cycle-rental, he is a part time musician (plays thavil) and a amateur story writer. He has become a part of my daily routine. Palani is too small a town for cycling, but I had to get a rented cycle to go to my office. No distance factor involved here. I should park my cycle infront of my office and walk briskly towards the entrance. Well, that gives me the feel of a employed graduate. 

Next month I am applying for SWF loan and I plan to buy the recently launched TVS50 moped. It will save the rent that I give to my dear Mr.Mani. And I should apply for a LPG connection and then I should get a stove also.

"Sir, Why not you choose writing as a profession? Anyway you are writing well" asks Mr.Mani.

I get him a tea and a gold filter. 

"Well thats fine.. Do you know where can I buy a Television..? I cannot pay it at one shot.. So tell me a place where can a have a good EMI" I ask him.

And then that day when we shared a smoke below the peepal tree... "Sir, I read your short story on Lankan tamils.. Superb sir.. Where do you such wonderful ideas sir..? " He asked.

" I got a TV.. It at 0% interest EMI" I was telling him.

Mr.Mani once wrote a long short-story and gave me. He asked for my opinion. I remember I saw that bunch of papers again when I vacated my house from Palani. I had ruined a tamil literary scholar right at his budding stage. 

" Sir.. I will say you where can you get a good deal for housing loan.. But before that tell me your opinions on short story which came in Vikatan written by Sujatha.. ? Awesome na.." He muttered.

"Well.. I have not read it so far" I said.

Now here.. I am sitting as a 60 year old.. The literary 'me' has already died and was cremated with honours. My literary boundaries ends with dailies. 

Why I am mentioning all these.. ? Last sunday I got a letter from Mr.Mani..

It was in 15paise yellow post card.. He tried to compress the wishes of his family members in one side of card and in the other side of the card he asks "Have you read Tolstoy..? You should read to appreciate the beauty!"

A Filmy Friend

The more I see movies, the more encouraging I feel. Yes, I feel that I could make a better movie  than most of them. I agree to the fact that it is an 'industry' but I cant digest all these craps made in the name of commercialisation. I should be able to enjoy the movie in any part of the world. It should not portray local emotions and people. It should kindle the inner artistic spirits of every human being on earth, no matter where he is from.

I have a friend who wants to overturn the way in which Tamil films are made. He lives in a mansion in Triplicane, Chennai. Fortunate enough to be an assistant director if a movie which was dropped, He now works as an Assistant of an assistant director who shares his room in the mansion. Both have atleast 20 stories in their repertoire. Action, Comedy, Sentiment, .. and one item number kind of stories. Phir bhi Pass ho gaya! kinda themes. I was not able to discuss with them about Kurosowas or Goddards. Their gruelling poverty strikes me. I asked them to take stories from their own lives. A good director should always maintain a diary or a blog and capture his emotions then and there. 

"DP! In this fouth story na.. I have a scene before the intermission. The Hero stands on top of a mound.. The heroine runs towards him.. And there was a gun-shot" 

"I pray that the story ends there itself" I said.

Some fallacies: (also applicable to movies in the past)

• I think a girl`s father would never decide to kill his daughter just because she refused to marry a guy who was chosen by him. 
  
• You wont be reconnected on phone when you bang the button (where receiver is placed), These shots normally come when the villain threatens and cuts the phone.
• No boys hostel is so shabby & No girls hostel is so sauber as shown in the movies.
• There wont be a case where there is no exchange of words between parties in a fight.
• Not all the beautiful people are intelligent.
• There is nothing called 'Love at first sight'.. 

(Readers can post more in the comments (in films between 1990-2008).. The best of them will be awarded a book on 'How to write a screenplay?' written by Sujatha)

I asked him to correct some of the common fallacies in his story. He greeted me that I am going to be the next-sujatha in larger context. I paid the bill for the dinner. He argued that he can make 'Nylon kayiru' novel into a movie. God save the king!

As he came to Central station in Chennai to see me off, I asked him a realistic question.

"Do you have some scripts in your mind already?"

"Thats least important! Now its time to make contacts with big people" He said.

It is a more realistic answer.

Cadence of soul

 Hold on! I could hear light. How often this had happened to me before..? It an eerie whizz that has got emanated from the crust of the lamp and its audible to me now. 

Call it 'Chevlovsky effect' or whatever..I will now have the third shot of today. The mystical chemical reaction had already begun and it has started cleansing the tawdry marks in my soul. Reality is something that has to be quarantined. It is the sickest thing on earth. It kills the fantasies and walks over the cadaver of the illusions. I push reality to the corner with this chemical elixir.. but it pounces back at me with vengence. Reality is the greatest nemesis of mankind.

The light have now changed their note. It is a shriller now. I hate this.. It kills the ambience. Who on earth invented the sodium vapour lamp.? 

I am an antagonist to my own beliefs. Its a pleasing thing to oppose someone and its more pleasing to oppose your own reality. Try it out folks! 

Let me have the fourth shot of the day.

Directors cut: This is supposed to be the first scene in my film. It is jus one frame where a fetid young man with beard gawks at a sodium vapour lamp on the roadside. He is doped as mentioned. Just a lesson in writing screenplay. I should convey the thoughts of that person through some camera angles. Let me try.

Nandi Hills (a short story)

Vijay decided to kill Bhaskar. It was not an immediate decision. He had thought about it a few months back but had to postpone because Bhaskar had taken a leave. 

Vijay felt betrayed. Why english was so hard to him..? Is it his fault that he wears thick glasses and finds difficult to speak with girls.? Some people are groomed like that.. They are failures of a ill-mannered society and a shabby culture. Vijay had never felt so low.

Bhaskar met Vijay a year back. That was the time when Bhaskar was new to office. Some people are flamboyant by default. They make friends easily. They do things with a panache. Bhaskar is one of them. 

"You seem to be quiet always.. Why not you speak out..?" Bhaskar asked Vijay as both lit cigarettes.

"No! I am always like that" Vijay was taken aback by the blatant question.

In conversations after that Vijay opened up and told his complexes to Bhaskar. To list down a few -Vijay is short (his height is 5 feet 2 inches ). Vijay cannot speak English fluently (he studied in Kannada medium). He believes he is impotent (smokes 15 cigarettes per day). He has curly hair inside his ears and wears cylindrical power glasses (attributed to genes). And in top of all that he wants to speak to a girl so badly in the past few days.

"Just go ahead and start the conversation" Bhaskar advised Vijay.

"How can I..? Ananthi is so beautiful.. How can a person like me.. A dumb squib like me talking to her.."

"Hmmm.. Can I help you..? I can introduce her to you" Bhaskar had a faint smile.

"No! for gods sake.. Leave me alone.. I am more than happy with my Byron and shelly" 

"Then marry them.. Dont ever think of Ananthi" Bhaskar left.

Vijay stood in front of mirror that night. He does this so often. 

"I know these people. So mean and so trite. I cannot reduce my self esteem and go and talk to someone.. Why should I..? Is she so important.. Let her come and talk to me.."

The following day was Ananthi`s birthday.. People were wishing her all the way from morning. She looked more beautiful that day. 

"Come on Vijay! It is a good oppurtunity. Go and wish her" yelled Bhaskar.

"Shut your mouth! Why on earth should I wish a stranger for their birthday.. Everyday on earth thousands of people were born" 

"Hey! You are nuts.. Its better you consult a psychiatrist"

"Mind your words Bhaskar! Please try to argue within your limits" Vijay left as he shouted this words.

That night when Vijay stood infront of mirror he decided to kill Bhaskar. He was waiting for an oppurtunity from then on. It came yesterday. Everyone in the office decided to go to Nandi hills for a excursion.

"Hey Vijay!  You are gonna come for this excursion" Bhaskar commanded vijay.

This is what they call 'digging ones own grave' ... Vijay had to make exquisite plans to kill Bhaskar. It should look like a accidental fall from the mountain.. He should also take Bhaskar alone detaching him from the friends circle to accomplish the ordeal. Lets see what happens..

It was a jeering journey in the bus. People were singing and dancing. Ananthi was in white dress looked like an angel. Vijay and Bhaskar were sitting in the same seat. Vijay was not involved in the activities. 

"I should atleast kill one useless person on earth.. Being stupid is not his fault.. But how can he mock at me.. I am destined for something big.. How can he mock at me for not talking to Ananthi.." Thoughts went like a flocking feather after a bird hunt.

People started talking the same old office stories once they reached Nandi hills. Everyone tried their best to show that they were child-like by their heart. Vijay wanted to act quickly.

"Can you come with me for a walk? I want to talk something personally" Vijay asked Bhaskar.

"Ya.. Why not" 

Nandi Hills has a fort built by Tipu sultan. There is a special place called Tipu`s drop from where the prisoners where dropped from the hill. In the current topography if someone falls from Tipu`s bend they will directly come to the second hairpin bend.

"It had been a terrible year for me Bhaskar" Vijay started.

"Hey.. Cool down.. May be you are thinking so much.. Have you been to NIHMANS..? I told you to do so."

"No Bhaskar! I may not need it"

"Hmmm.. you keep turning down my suggestions"

Vijay laughed. The valley infront seemed to echo. 

It happened in a split second. "You dont need to live anymore" shouted Vijay and kicked Bhaskar into Tipu`s drop.

Venkatappa received a urgent call. He called two of constables and reached the 2nd hairpin bend of Nandi hills. As the police jeep reached the spot, people moved and made way for Venkatappa. 

It was a gory scene. Venkatappa had to bend backwards to see the Tipu`s drop on top . It was like a faint dot. 

"Hmmm.. What is name of the victim?" asked Venkatappa.

"Vijay Bhaskar! sir" told one of his constables.

I read my 2015 diary

Daylight was pouring through the windows of the wagon. The smooth tweeters gave a shrill and the air conditioner soothed the eyelids. I preffered Pink Floyd.
I have yearned for cars. Those days, our neighbours used to have a Premier Padmini.. I used to wonder why people call it Fiat. It used to be mode of travel for our imaginary journeys to the destinations of which always used to change.

Bangalore is a nice to place to start your career with if you dont consider the 'harsh reality' part of it. All you need is to do is to adopt yourself to 'swalpa adjust maadi' ing with the people.
Those days, I used to walk everyday to office in the morning. Bangalore wakes up late and all you get is some half sleeping magas serving masala dosa.
I used to meet those people who sleep in the roadside.. Those children.. Who used to sleep tasting the taste of tar. And that small boy who always sits near traffic signal and wishes me as I pass.
I never used to wish him back. Those were days when I started building my bourgeois basements. I didnt know then that happiness is inversly proportional to bank balance.

Then I started to go by autorickshaw to office. I saw less of the road side people. I used to take a book to read on the way. Kipling, Dickens, Byron,.. Now I saw a different set of people. Life changes right.?
I was sent onsite to the city of angels. Ya, You are right. I got a bike after I returned from there. I used to like those long distance trips with my sweetheart. Hmmm.. Motorbikes.. Its one of crazy inventions of mankind. I was a part of 4 minor accidents in bangalore from 2009 till 2012.

I was sent onsite to the land of rising sun. Needless to say I came back. I bought a Audi Q7 Quattro.. I married my sweetheart. I started delivering lectures on the 'six sigma' and have written a few books about them also.. Next time if you go to landmark, see them in 'Non-fiction' section in the first floor.
Here I am.. I have shifted to the fourth gear and its now its 'The great gig in the sky' in the stereos. Pink Floyd is immortal and so is audi Q7.

Nowadays I realised that I am not at all noticing the roadside children. Those people have never changed. Still someone sits near the signal. Still those homeless children on Tar road.
Its cold in Bangalore nowadays.. I feel like burning all the literature I have read to warm them up. Who is joining with me.?

JarHead

That day passed without any significant activity. That was a Friday and people are expected to leave for the day very early, only to swipe their credit in the money thirsty malls in Bangalore. There was an apparent urge in the faces of people as they returned from the afternoon round of coffee-break.
"Hey dude! You didnt come for the coffee?".
"Ya! I know" I replied.

I saw the monitor. It stared back at me in return. It was when the telephone tringed. It was a long trrrrrring. Must be a call from the customer... May be he will be asking some questions which will be a fodder for my technical hunger.. May be he is appreciating the piece of code written by me some six months back (my last attempt of glory).. I picked up the call..

"Hello Sir, Am I speaking to Mr.@@@@..? This is Reena calling on behalf of XYZ bank..Would you like to..?"

"I would like to ask you one thing ..How much are you paid Ms.Reena..?"

It was not new for me. I had seen periods of no-work. But this time it was for a longer period of time. It began with a recession in US. It still has its roots on the declaration of war on Iraq by Mr.Bush. Its root is on what is called as sep.11. It again has its roots on guys like Osama and so on.

Seems strange. But this is how I analyse things nowadays. I am not here to do this 'news-channel' style analysis. But reality is this. I go home from office at 6PM everyday and I am forced to watch news channels as I totally disagree with the shows which claim to hunt for talent.

I went for an Onsite. It was last year when I was sent to the city of angels. Well..thats when I saw the faces of people whom I yearn to converse with. They hold a doctorate in their area of interest and still keep their head cool and straight. My 'knowledge' is like a David infront of their Goliathness. Well.. David slays Goliath only in the books.

I never complain for the sorry state of being software engineer. But just give me some work which will help me to prove my mettle.

These are extract from the diary of my friend who used to work in a leading software firm in Bangalore. He had quit his job recently to start a business. He recently shared on how his knowledge on 'Supply-Chain management' helps in his idly-dosa business.

John Mascerhanes for you

As he took the pick and touched the strings of guitar, he began to forget everything. John Mascerhanes was stoned. He had multiple shots of cocaine that night. He had a fight with Elena that night and may be because of that he may have overdosed. He sat in the balcony of his 2BHK apartment and started with his guitar.As he caressed the strings to give life to a Pink Floyd number,he felt the beat. The beat that had chilled his spine. The ecstacy on earth. The orgasmic feeling that one gets when they create music.

The tempo of increased and it was reaching a crescendo. Why should you think, that he has to get into daily chores of life. He was a born musician.
When he has the guitar in his hands.. It screams, cries, laughs and some time talks. He persuaded for what wanted. The one dream which he chased till he saw the dark side of it. He still lives on this side.

Elena speaks photography. She composes optical sonnets. She also goes high with cocaines and thats what brought John and her together. She was pale for 27 years. Hunger and dosing are the parents of creativity and both John and Elena had both of them in plenty. They were college mates. And they were living together since then. Now Elena wanted to have a baby and thats the reason why there was a misunderstanding.

John played in the bars around Panjim. He used to play immortal numbers of Beatles and so on infront of a doped audience who can see music and hear colours. He had been a part of three music bands which had never released an album. He had given up the idea anyways.

If I had finished telling about John Mascerhanes with last paragraph, then you would not be having the complete information.

That day, after playing a solo in his balcony.. He went back to his room and dosed himself to death.

Vincent Prabhakar

Hello Sir/Madam.. Just two minutes..Do you know Mr.Prabhakar..? His full name is Vincent Prabhakar. He used to live in the corner house in our street and used to drive a age old bullet motorcycle. Can you recollect him.?
Anyways, as you dont know about him. I should tell a story. Kindly bear with me.

This Vincent Prabhakar is a poet whose feathers never flocked beyond the crowded streets of Emmahalli. Writing a poem is one of the adulterations of the adulthood. But he went far beyond that. He writes a lot of self-sympathetic poems where he portrays himself like a ugly noob in the art of loving. He writes his classics in 40 page unruled notebooks whose stack had increased from last January. From then on till his death this September, He had completed 30 notebooks straight. By the way, he died last saturday at the age of 26. He was laid to rest in St.Stephens crematorium which is very adjacent to the Emmahalli bus-stop.
Till now I had not come to the story, sorry sir I have a lot of diversions. Even Vincent is also like that Sir.

This Vincent loved a girl. She was the daughter of the local MLA. You might have seen that in many movies. But what interests me was the collection of poems that the great poet had left behind and his notes. He is well versed in Kannada. But the language is just a trail of his thoughts. His lines in the poem are just the trails left behind by the prancing horse which is his thoughts. I thought of quoting his words here, but this blog is too small a stage to showcase the maestero.

Lets not go philosophical. I do run a risk of losing the readability of this blog if I do that. I will give you bare facts.
Emmahalli`s sole claim for fame was a big-ben like tower clock till Hema came here. She completely shattered the dreams of everyone in Emmahalli. She stayed in the house adjacent to Vincent`s. He used to tell us about her voice.(She is a trained carnatic music singer). She comes to collect the flowers from the corner shop every morning and that when we came to know what made Vincent to go mad behind her. She is beautiful! I have tried to include some adjectives here.. But English is running out of adjectives.

Vincent spends a lot when he is happy and we have a reason to praise his poems. Soon it grew into a addiction to him. He will write a poem and then go for a smoke and then will sit again fresh for a new poem. It has just become an oxygen for his literary life. We (5 star friends group) were praising his poems all the way. I think I praised it in the beginning of this post also (the prancing horse!) and I hope the remaining 3 stars would have already written an ode in their respective blogs.

We also thought she was very much involved in love towards him. It seems last friday Vincent saw her in the garden with another person. And both of them were alone.
Vincent`s letter of departure was a poem in itself. He claims that glossiest of the diamonds leave behind deepest of cuts and so on.

We.. from Emmahalli friends association (5 star group) have decided to publish a collection of Vincent`s poems. Kindly give some donation sir. Vincent Prabhakaran is a great poet.

Master of his own Arts

He was 26 and he looked like a 45 year old. The overgrown beard showed that it had not seen razor for a week. His pale eyes were bracketed by thick spectacles in an attempt to look at his inner blindness.

"Hello DP" he yelled.

Now..thats a little surprising. Only my close pals call me by this name and whenever someone calls me DP my memories go back to my school days. It was in those when an official "Divya Prasanna" got into a short and user-friendly "DP".

"Sorry I cant recognise you" I said looking deep into the sullen eyes of his.
He told his name which I cant mention here. To be frank, I didnt recognise him from his name. It was one of those common first names that you would come across in south India. But i didnt want to embarrass him.

"I know you did'nt get me by name, I know that" he said. His first smile revealed traces of nicotine on an ill-arranged teeth.

"I am sorry to say that. But you know all these days I am into lotta work.."

"You into Software.?" He asked. That was a blatant question.

"Yes. Kinda.."

My cellphoned beeped with a good evening message.

"So you should have a fat paycheck, a costly mobile, a credit card and cozy friends"

"So.. What do you try 2 say..?" I asked with a profound caution.

"Oh.. sorry I didnt try to offend you in anyway..Thanks for the talk" He said and lit a cigarette (without a filter).

"Hey.. Dude.. cool down.. what are you up to..? How come in Bangalore..?" I tried to break the unpleasant calm.

"I am up to nowhere.. I am in Bangalore because life took me here" He said as a thick cloud of smoke engulfed his face.

"You working here.. A BPO/An ITES...? Hey.. U look like a Journo.. workin in TOI..?" I asked.

"I did my M.A in English Literature. And life has already shown the harsh side of it..Life is not a
spectacle or feast; It is a predicament" He said.

"Yo.. stunning words yaar.. Predicament... That should be from word list 32 in Barrons" I said.

"Bar..What..? I've read only Byron"

"Leave it yaar.. I gave up preparing for any competitive exams.. It is not in my spectre anymore" I said.

"I feel a verse from Byron as I see your restlessness"

"Me.. Restless.. who said..? You callin me 'restless' guy.. How dare.." I was restless.

"Hmmm... Why I came here, I know not; where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom"

"And Jill came trembling after.." I said.

Among other things.. I came to know that his childhood sweetheart, one Ms.Anandhi had left him and that he smoked 15 cigarettes a day. He spoke a lot about Byron and Shelly. He gave me a cold look when I asked about his job.

All throughout we meet a lot of people in the daily life and each of them carry a story behind them. Some crumble with weakness and sought for a premature ending for their life. Some stand brave and fight against distress who soon will reach the pinnacle. And in between them there are people like our young rebel.

We just reached an ATM as we walked talking with each other. I just excused to take some money for the weekend. My friend preferred to stay outside and enact a soliloquy with his filterless cigarette.

As I came out of the ATM counting my notes. He asked with a brisk tone "DP! Have you considered taking a Insurance?".

Software professional with 2 years experiance

By June16, I completed my 2 years in the software industry. Two years of affiliation with coffee mugs, computers and coding. It has given me some solitary moments which helped me to define myself. Some expectations went in the drain and some oppurtunities clicked when it is least expected to.
Hello external world! Dont ask an IT professional "Hows work?".
It sometimes throws the harsh reality which makes us sometimes to feel nostalgic.

On a lighter note, I feel like sharing with you some interesting questions that I faced in last two years about work -

• Which domain are you in..?
• On which platform are you working on..?
• Shall I forward you my resume..?
• What do you exactly do sitting in front of monitor for one full day..? (by an elder person)
• What is your pay package..?
• Is there onsite oppurtunities in your job..?
• When are you writing GRE..?
• What plans for the weekend.?
• Why you didnt come for the team outing.?
• What is your rating in the performance review.?

Welcome to get Bangalored!

SHE - II

It was a sunday and it rained heavily. The hazy winds accomponied the rain and the sun was visible as a faint bleach in the wrath of black clouds. It was dark inside my house and it was just 1700hrs. Time seemed to come to a stand still and my mobile got switched off because of low battery.

I stood in the balcony to see how the rain god is casting his spell on the bystanders. There she was hiding with a baby in her hand under the poorly laid tin roof.

The rain drops percolated through her hairs and her eyes had a shade of bleakness. The child was crying. She is probably the mother of that child. She might be having a drunkard as her husband who boozes away all his earnings. She might be very well working in xerox shop or a telephone booth. And may be saving her fortunes to buy baby food.

She was wearing a wrinkled salwar and had a age-old mobile in her hand. The baby was still crying and she took out a feeding bottle from half torn jute bag hanging to her left shoulders.

I wonder what plans she has for the future. She would obviously like to make her son/daughter an engineer. She would obviously change the company if she feels that her manager is having a wrong motive. She may leave the kid in some missionary if she wants to end her life or she may very well become a nun or so.

We often attach a lot of respect towards things like pride,success..etc. Success is something like a light in the tunnel but its that of an approaching train. There she is standing in the rain with a wailing baby. She might very well have failed. But she is beautiful. All those wrinkles and bleakness that her hardships had given her had made her more beautiful. I dont see beauty in the coat of success. Its the failure and the hardships that makes one beautiful. Well.. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

I went downstairs to grab a cup of hot chai. And there she came to the bakery with the baby. I saw her buying a cream bun and giving a small piece of it to the baby. I slowly walked near her and asked her gathering all my courage "How old are you?"

"19!" she said.

On Thinking and Relationships

What do you really mean when you say "I am thinking!". You recollect your memories and circumstances in the past and try to arrive at a solution for the current problem. The pre-conditioned mind gives you data from the vast memory repository that it has and you simply take a piece from the archive.

Now.. Do you really need to THINK in order to solve a problem. Is 'thought process' really helpful in solving a problem. From my past experiences, I have found that 'thinking' actually complicates the problem. 'Thinking' just sees a part of the problem and gives a solution for that. However, the vast majority of the problem which was unexplored in the past remains untouched.

Now I come to the most important aspect in human life - The relationships. By relation I mean friends, wife,lover,parents etc.. whom you think of even when they are not there. We approach towards a relationship with a pre-conceived notion. If you say 'NO' then you are telling a lie.
We think a lot before we involve ourselves in any relationship. We tend to draw parallels from the past relations and derive a hypothesis before we engage ourselves in a relation.

No one is alone in this world. If he/she tries to seclude themselves from the world then they are merely acting. All our mannerisms and characters are mended with every relation that we have. Relationships are the must for survival. Can you imagine getting yourself locked in a closed room for a week or so..?

But we really think a lot about the relationships and tend to complexify the entire chapter of it.
Some relationships are broken because of intensive thinking from both the sides. Relationships are not the ones that are to be approached via the tool of thinking. You need to do 'thinking' only when you want to draw some parallel from the past. Like when you want to write a code or something like that.

Relationship is a myriad path which was not discoverable by religion,sect, philosophy etc.. But merely by feeling it.

If I had raised a few questions in your mind. Then I am through. I wont think much about this post after I had posted it.

A hot cup of coffee and a teaspoon of philosophy

I was standing in the balcony and was enjoying a late evening coffee. I took the time to look at the twinkling stars of the evening sky. I had just read JK* and what else do you want to make your Sunday evening beautiful?
People worship success. Its what drives them happy everyday. Suddenly when they become void of success, there is a big vacuum. Success is like a black hole in the cosmos. It absorbs all the other feelings that surrounds it.
Have you ever looked at the women from village who carry pots on their head and walk towards the horizon..? Well, I met one of them last summer during my vacations. She was thin and pale and walks three kilometers for a pot of water. I asked her what success means to her. She gave me a sarcastic smile and told success means making her son a city-dweller.
I met her one more time last month and she was even more pale and was totally collapsed. Her son had become a drunkard. He was out of his own senses.
Now who is it to blame... The women..? Her son..? or the blind affection that manhood has towards success..?

Just because i am talking against 'success'.. Dont think that I say failure is fruitful.
My idea just to raise a few questions in the readers mind.

'Questions' makes one to feel happy. Especially asking a question which cannot be answered makes one feel even more happy. It triggers an inner quest then. The mind tries to find out the answer and hence explore. Have you noticed 'Question' has the word 'Quest' in it.

It is very important for one to come out of closed emotional quarters when asking questions. It is immaterial whether you are a Hindu or Christian or Muslim or a young man or a communist.. Any of these should not pose a constraint on you and your questions. Just keep asking the questions and the answers will start to come.
A Zen proverb says "When the student is ready, the teacher appears". Wat say?

Soon one can realize that happiness is not in success but in questions.

* - J Krishnamurthi, JK as he is fondly called by his readers is a philosopher. He is one of those philosophers who dont patronize religion. One can expect a rather serious narration style from him when compared to Osho, though at many places there is a unison between their philosophies. You can find his books in 1st floor in landmark under the section 'Eastern philosophy'.

SHE

I saw her after a long time. Her voice was still sweet giving some reminiscence of the distant past. She had given up singing though. Bangalore is too vast a place where you can meet an old friend when you are on a shopping spree. But it so happened that I met her in a commercial mall on a sultry sunday afternoon.

We stayed in a small town in central Tamil nadu long back. I still have fond memories of that place. She was my neighbours daughter. My earliest memories about her was playing with a bunch of friends around a papal tree.

"So you are in Bangalore for how long?" she asked.

"exactly 2 years.." I said. I had been Bangalored for so long.

"You must be living in a PG and should be a smoker" She asked.

"The first half of your sentence is true"

" I am with I******s for last two years, I moved to Bangalore recently"

" Oh cool.. Welcome to Bangalore then". I had a warm smile.

"Hmmm.. I dont like cities da.. I still like the woods and the papal tree that we used play around"

" I still go back to those days.. When I am down.. you know". I must be lying here.

"Oh.. Really.. you used to think about me" She giggled.

"Not always.. But sometimes when I see a Papal tree"

" Are you still afraid of butterflies..?"

"Ya.. I am still.. I still consider them as insects.. Its wings are ugly advertisements"

"Hmm.. I had missed you for long time.. I always thoug............"

Trrrrrrrrrrrrring..

My cellphone alarm rang and I got up. I had to rush to WC. Life is like that.

Summer of 91

Some photos gives an opportunity to go down memory lane. It makes you to go to your distant past when things were as simple and as direct as it looked like. These photos are sweet reminiscence of a ignorant phase of life.

We do grow up and eventually start playing weird games for existence. We get tired of proving ourselves worthy. Sometimes a few extra leaves of currency proves its worth better than you.

A candle dies because of its own light and humans also do.

This particular frame which the photo freezes was a humid July morning.. I had lost a button in my shirt as i always used to bite it. I was little shy because of swathi(who was sitting beside me). That was the maths teacher and the English teacher standing to our left. They did teach about maths and English, but they didn't reveal about the tricky game of life lying ahead.

So with our innocent faces.. We smiled..

For us the world ended within the compound walls of the school. The neem tree outside the wall is something which is extra-terrestrial..

I still feel the stinky smell which one can feel when they go near the coconut tree(seen in the background).. The smell of jasmine which pervades as our English teacher(mallika) enters the class. The sound of bell was the declaration of independence.

Life ended within short boundaries.. The word 'Happiness' was properly defined.. Now its little itchy to define happiness. I define and redefine it nowadays. May be you might also be doing the same thing.

The swaying Tao pendulum is in its 'Yin' phase (this is for my Chinese friends). The Karma is

accumulating.. The good Shepard beckons me in return for the sins. Somewhere back in that summer of 91, I didn't care much about these and hence smiling.
Life is a box of chocolates!

October sky on an April night

It was one of those hot and humid Saturdays. Temperature was soaring at its peak yelling out a mighty song for the ever dwindling pedestrians. Hardly any people come out these days in the afternoon.

The April nights are cool though. The breeze comes from the North fluttering the flora and the hearts of the listeners.

It is a full moon day. And the streets lights are off due to some strange political (or metaphysical!) reason. It is the time for the moon to take the role to light up this third rock from the sun. The moon had a saintly halo around it (science says.. Halo`ing is due to stratosphere)

Stars are pins on a giant black haystack. They do twinkle. Stratosphere is a giant artist and it juxtaposes the stars and the moon. It has given poets and scientists their daily piece of bread. And this night it is giving me a company on my lonely walk back home.

Ah! Here is Orion constellation (or is it?) . Just turned my head and covered Betelgeuse which may be hundred light years away. And this patches of clouds and city lights, they are villains of space lovers.

Locked in the maze of sky and littled by the littleness of earth, I recollect the October sky of 1957 when the first man made satellite Sputnik(USSR) brushed a master-stroke in the canvas of sky.

fyi...Man is just a Social Animal!

Do you think..?

தேடி சோறு நிதம் தின்று – பலசின்னஞ்சிறு கதைகள் பேசி – மனம்வாடி துன்பம் மிக உழன்று –பிறர்வாட பலசெயல்கள் செய்து –நரைகூடி கிழபருவமெய்தி –கொடுங்கூற்றுக் கிரையென்ன பின்மாயும் – பலவேடிக்கை மனிதரைப் போல் -நான்வீழ்வெ னென்று நினைத்தாயோ….

Always on the hunt for food -- Muttering out gossips all the time - Letting the mind to be Clutched in the claws of despair -- Doing something which hurts others -- Getting into the grey lined old - Making myself a prey for the fate.

Do you think I would end up like a common man..?

The light is gone

The light of the neo-modern tamil literary world is gone. The multi-faceted persona of tamil literary circle is no more. On 27th Feb.. Sujatha (real name: Rangarajan) died.
I cant get words to write how much I liked his words. I grew up with his words..
Ganesh and the ever funny Vasanth.. (Two of his popular charecters)
Mukundan in Nila Nizhal..(The shadow of moon)
His charecters in Sreerangathu devathaigal.. (The angels of sreerangam).
Anyone who know to read tamil and had missed Sujatha are missing a spice in life.

A Bangalorian evening

As the world clutters around me and the sound of an insane motorist irks me, I am writing this article in the middle of a chaos - Its the electronic city. Its friday evening and the IT-thirsty bangalorians have decided to have a shot of elixir. Weekend is the only thing which has a proper definition here.

Guys give a tough time to Rossi with spunky bikes and Girls giggle in their mobile phones.. The scene is set for a perfect friday sunset. The street-lights come into life here and there. The hazy sodium vapour and the harsh mercury ones. The noisy BMTC buses run jam-packed spilling out smoke regularly and people at every stop.

Shops light their front doors and the ATM machines starts to get scratched. The sons and daughters of globalisation take a german car to have italian food in an American restaurant. They talk about Bush,Kosova, Karan Johar and Magdalene.

The dogs come out of the gutter-kennel. These are uninvited proletrates of Bangalore. But without them Bangalore is not complete. It scares.. frightens..terrifies..petrifies. But all the way it tests our endurance.
Now there are more lights.. More blaring of horns.. As the city of bangalore comes to standstill in every traffic jams, you can easily say it half past eight. Again there is cellphones clinging and people trying to sell a duplicate ray-ban at the traffic signal.
Foreigners strangle in the maze of streets with half-torn map and a water bottle.
If u can 'swalpa adjust maadi'... This is a bangalorian evening for you.