The Mango Tree

Today...... or sometime very soon
Virar, Mumbai

"Nirmal. Jaldi bhaag." (Nirmal, Run soon) screamed Ganesh as they saw the Ramu kaka run with his stick shouting "Aam chor" (Mango Thieves). Of course their 11 year old legs were more agile and able than the 68 year old Ramu kaka, who seemed to be running even slower than the heroes running in slow motion in mindless movies. By the time Ramu kaka came near the fence, they had passed the grove and were beneath the Neem tree near their house.

Nirmal pulled out the small key chain pen knife which his Singapore uncle had gifted him on his previous birthday. He cut the mango into 2 halves while Ganesh opened the Mirchi which was neatly folded in the Indian Express newspaper. Ganesh sprinkled the mirchi generously on the top of the Mango as their mouth watered to finish it off that instant.

WOW!!! Mangoes taste so good….and in particular stolen Mangoes really do taste like Manna from heaven.

15 years later
Syed Alwi Road, Singapore

The list read 'Ring - 1 for Anand (6 years)'. Nirmal was not sure how he was supposed to ask for a ring for a 6 year old. What the hell was a 6 year old kid supposed to do with a golden ring? What….was he was like Frodo of Lord of the Rings?

Well…either way all he was supposed to do was not think, but just get it. Anand was his Aunt's relative’s son and Nirmal made it sure to impress her to remain in the good books of his uncle. While Mustafa remained crowded as ever, Nirmal found it difficult to find the right size with the right design which would fit in the right budget.

After comparing over a dozen rings and thinking of all possible permutations and combinations, Nirmal chose for a ring which had a nice "A" embossed with some glossy design. Now that should make his Aunt happy. He struggled to get past the weekend-or-not-but-we-are-always-crowded Mustafa to move to the Cashier counter. As the cashier processed the bill, Nirmal checked if he had managed to cover everything in the check list.

Nirmal and Ganesh seemed lost in the taste of the mangoes.

"Nalla irukku illa?" mused Ganesh in tamil. (It’s nice isn’t it?)

"Tu aur tera tamil. Hindi me baat kar re" (You and your tamil. Speak in Hindi)

Having lived in the same colony ever since they remembered, Ganesh and Nirmal often used to tease each other with generous dose of their respective mother tongues. Nirmal was an Uttar Pradeshi by birth and Ganesh was a tamilian or madrasi as they are called in this part of the world. But then childhood doesn’t know about any barriers of language, caste or creed that are set by the vicious adult world.

They had roamed around arms in arms, playing pranks, breaking window panes with cricket balls, watching Shahrukh's latest movie in the deluxe theatre front seat and so on. They kept 3 slices for their friends Manish, Ganpath and Rakesh. Rakesh in particular loved Mangoes. He was sure to go bonkers.

As they entered their colony, they witnessed something they would remember for the rest of their life….and possibly after life.

Making sure that everything was bought as per the check list, Nirmal carried the 4 heavy Mustafa bags which were laden with every possible thing he could lay his hands on. Stepping outside, he called for a cab and loaded the 4 bags and sat next to them puffing and panting in between. Thank god!!!The cabs in Singapore come fitted with Air Conditioner. It was such a relief to have some cool air breeze on face (so what if artificial) after spending hours in sweat. As the cab rushed into the condominium apartment in Bedok, he took out his purse and paid the cab driver.

After showering for 20 mins, Nirmal made few last minute packing with some items he had bought. The rest of the items would be carried by his Uncle and Aunt who would start a day later. Nirmal called a cab near his house and put his suitcase in the trunk while he retained the cabin luggage with him. He opened his travel bag which contained his passport. On any day he could have got a Permanent Resident pass, but he chose to retain his nationality. He read the words inscribed on the passport with the same hatred and his blood boiled in anger as it did when he read them for the first time years before.

It read "Passport" on the top and beneath was inscribed with the words "United States of India".

The only words that could have described the scenario are Chaos and mayhem. People were running helter shelter and there were cries and shrieks of "HELP" heard from every possible corner. Some houses were torched and the cries from those houses were at higher decibels. There were some men who had bands on their head and were shouting "Jai Maharashtra…jai Maratha". Some were carrying torches and seemed to be burning houses as per their whims and fancies.

Nirmal had read about some problems in nearby localities regarding disputes between local Maharashtrians and Biharis and Uttar pradeshis. There was a sudden outburst to drive all outsiders from the state. It was like a domino effect and seemed as if all the pieces were falling today. One mad guy ran near an old woman and shouted to her "Thuvaa Maratha?" (Are you a Maratha?)

She didn’t respond as she didn’t understand Marathi. The man took out a knife and stabbed her. Cold Blooded murder. Nirmal and Ganesh watched this horror happen just before their eyes. They ran for their lives before they too would be consumed. As they went near their house….they saw them torched down to ashes. The door was bolted from outside which meant that his parents were trapped inside and ....... Burnt to ashes.

Nirmal got his passport stamped as he arrived at Mumbai Airport. He would have to get it stamped in Telangana (formerly Andhra Pradesh) tomorrow when he would have to rejoin his Uncle and Aunt. This was the same country where you could go around without being asked. Without being questioned. Without fear. Without any barriers. And now you had to get it stamped whenever you cross any boundaries.

Now all that remained were pieces. He still remembered the interview of the politician who had started the "Maratha Aandolan".

Q: There were so many casualties because your party men were involved in massacre. What are your comments on this?

A. In any movement there are casualties. Such things do happen…but they are for greater good.

Casualties. Hundreds died. Thousands were orphaned. Lakhs lost their job, home and life. More than the loss of their kith and kin, they had lost their identities. And that son-of-a-bitch termed them all as casualties. And when he got arrested for all this, he smiled and waved as if he was Lord Christ taken out for crucifixion. Every politician took cue from his victory and they reduced INDIA to UNITED STATES OF INDIA. The only thing that united the whole country was Misery. Corruption. Anarchy. Oh yeah....cricket can be added to the list.

Nirmal ran to the door and knocked it down and saw his parents who were reduced to charred bodies. He could not even touch them as it was still hot….but lifeless. Nirmal cried. He cried as loud as he could. But his wails got lost amongst the hundreds of cry for help and anguish. Everything was reduced literally and figuratively to ashes. 2 days later Nirmal's uncle came to take him to Singapore as he had no one left to take care in this world. Ganesh left to his relative’s house in Tamilnadu. But what about the hundreds of others who had no one to look after?????

As Nirmal boarded the train from Virar station to leave to Mumbai Airport, he saw the Mango grove.

There was no Ramu kaka, no vigil near the Mango trees.

But the Mangoes failed to entice him.

On the next day morning, Nirmal caught a train to Virar and went to his colony. Oh…what was his colony. There was some shopping complex built in that area with everything written in Marathi. The same place where his parents were reduced to ashes without their own approval. There was no Rahim chacha’s Biriyaani shop, no Grace aunty’s tailoring machine sound, no Ganesh, no Rakesh, no amma-appa……nothing.

Everything seemed to have been wiped clean just as a wave washes away writings on beach sand. Unable to bear the sight he walked past the grove. The Mango trees remained. Maybe because they were mangoes and they didn’t have any caste, creed or religion. Lucky Mangoes.

"What Sir? Seems like you have lost your way? Shall I help you?" asked an out-of-work teenager.

Nirmal wanted to say everything...at least something. All he managed to say was

"I think I can find my way." He hoped someday his country would find one as well.

P.S: Inspired from the horrendous Nashik Incident.

Ever After

"This is your last stop sahib" said the soft spoken bus attendant to me as I woke up from my customary evening nap on my company bus. I don’t know exactly if he meant it as a metaphor or it was just those grey cells in my stupid mind made them feel so, but I had to get down for sure.

Sheepishly I picked up my bag and climbed down the bus. After 5 minutes of useless hesitation, I managed to cross the road after making sure that there was not even any approaching cycle which could hit me and lay me six feet under. What was so different about today than the rest of the days?

Let me guess. I woke up, showered, dressed, went to work, ate and now I am back.
Hey...seemed normal. But why do the people (in particularly youngsters in my team and around) seem happy? There was a grin on almost everybody's face, and there is an air of expectancy. And then it struck me. It was feb 14th.

Aahhhh. There we go. Valentine's Day. It seemed as if everyone else was looking forward to this day except me. There is a happy Valentines Day board outside a shop. I wanted to go and scream “You didn’t have a Happy Independence day board before dumb ass. What are you...some valentine pimp?”

But that’s not fair. This is a democratic country and except Shiv sainiks, RSS folks or Muslim Haji everyone had the right to freedom of expression. Damn! Why am I dragging politics now? It seemed as if this day was invented by the Archie’s & Hallmark or by Dee Beers & Nakshatra as their shops seemed to be filled with eager customers. Oh gosh! There we go. Either these love birds are sending SMS or calling and giggling or walking hand in hand. Why am I so jealous?

And that is when it happened. Powercut. Ahhh....I hate darkness. I took out my Sony W810i and tuned into some radio channel which was playing some mindless stuff. Whatever! As long as it keeps me away from madness. Have you ever walked around a busy road with headphones in our ears which plays loud music? Ahhh....you should try it. It seems as if the whole world is dancing to the tune of the song that you are hearing and you can relate to every gesture and every action on road in sync with the song.

The world remained the same everyday. I saw the same people today as I did on every other day. The Mithai shop uncle who barked at his customers, the grocery shop owner who seemed to reinvent multi processing, the vegetable vendor and house wife who haggled for every penny, the old beggar who knew I would never oblige and still never gave up and asked me for alms. It seemed as if we were all held captives in the prison of time. I reached my home and switched on the light. Bloody routine! It was pitch dark still. I switched on the light on my W810i which suddenly felt like some beacon on beach.

I threw my shoe, socks and bag and rested on the sofa. When you live alone in a house, no rules of neatness or decorum are applicable. Why am I alone? Oh...don’t bother. I closed my eyes with the headphones on and wondered what the hell was going to play next. And out of the blue, they decided to play THIS Lata Mangeshkar song. And I get reminded of her. Kalpana.

Lag Jaa gale,
ke phir yeh,
Haseen raat ho na ho

Shaayad, phir is Janam mein
Mulakaat ho na ho.

(Come and hug me,
This night may be there or not

We may or may not meet
in this birth.....)

Memories seemed to flood like an avalanche. This was the song for which we both had done tango in our small bed room and laughed at our stupidity. There was nothing in the room except our laughing voices, Lata Mangeshker's haunting voice....and our love.

How happy were we? How good those days were? We cared so much for each other. We were so madly in love. Those days of hand-in-hand roaming around the streets, those afternoons of stomach and heart filling lunch where food was just an excuse, those evenings in the garden, those nights together where everything else seemed like oblivion. It was a world where no one existed other than me and her.

What had happened to all that? All because of some stupid tussle. Coming to think of it, I can’t even remember why we fought in the first place. Perhaps all fights are like that. It was all in the heat of anger. It had been almost a week since we had talked and she had been living at her friends place.

Ego. Bloody ego. We both had been so adamant as if we would melt if we apologized I had been angry about Valentines Day just a few minutes before and now I was yearning to hear her voice. Strange how the human mind works. Suddenly the lights came back alive. The sudden surge of light almost blinded me. Like a baby just out of its mother's womb, I shrunk my eyes. I sprung from the sofa and shut out the lights.

Darkness. It seemed better in darkness. Only her memories, Lata Mangeshker's mellifluous voice and darkness. Like every other thing in this world, this song too came to an end. Something tasted salty. Ahhh....tears. Like raindrops on the other side of a window pane, she seemed so near....yet so far.

Throwing aside my ego and inhibitions, I decided to give her a call. I picked up my mobile and decided to talk, beg, and plead...whatever it takes to bring her back into my life. As I punched her number on my key pad, it happened.

My mobile came to life with her incoming call.

Scent of a Woman

To someone else it may have seemed too small an accomplishment to throw up their arms in air and yell "Yippie" and do similar antics that you watch Shohaib Akhthar do on a cricket field. But as far as Anjali was concerned she had done it and she was ecstatic. On this occasion all she managed was a smile. She had managed to silence her alarm clock at exactly 5.58 AM and stopped it from letting out its outburst at 6 AM.

Almost a month odd before Anjali had never ever seen the morning sun (except on exam days) before 8 AM. Anjali used to sleep for so long that she was nicknamed Lady Kumbhakaran in her family and friend’s circle. She would dream about every possible thing that she could relate to in her sleep and worse of all she would remember it to detail next morning and wonder what it meant.

But that had all changed once she got married almost 20 days before to her loving hubby Aakash. She looked at Aakash who was snoring so loudly that she wondered if it could be counted as noise pollution. She reminded herself to pull his leg about this when they would go to bed tonight.

She fumbled to switch on the rest room lights as she was still yet to be accustomed to her new home. She brushed her teeth slowly and gently making sure that her toothbrush touched every possibly reachable teeth and glowed it to perfection. Nearly 10 minutes later she looked in the mirror and wondered if her teeth looked bright enough to be featured in the Happy Dent White ad.

She changed her attire from nightgown to salwaar and walked out of her bedroom. She remembered that she used to roam around in shorts and tees in her home and hostel a month before. The moment she saw her mother-in-law her memory switched to play mode from the flashback mode.

The first time she saw her mother-in-law, she was reminded of Cruella Devil from 101 Dalmatians. But she reasoned that maybe few decades later she herself might look even worse. Her mother-in-law always woke up bang at 5.30 AM and would prepare coffee for herself and her husband. i.e. Anjali's father-in-law. Anjali walked into the 300*300 kitchen and started to prepare coffee for Aakash. Aakash always liked his coffee extra hot, strong with 2 spoonfuls sugar.

She woke him and gave the coffee which he received thankfully with sleepy-eyed thanks. She had always found the practice of bed-coffee disgusting, but she did not advice Aakash about this as she wanted to give him his space. After sipping a mouthful of coffee Aakash smiled. You might think that in return she would have smiled and they would have kissed and cuddled that moment.

But that is something that happens in your regular pop-corn flicks where hero and heroine break out for duets in Snowy Alps where still heroine alone is supposed to roam around is dresses that are typically worn in Sahara desert. Real life love stories need stomach full breakfast and box full of lunch to survive the day and after.

An orthodox family that it was, her mother-in-law still preferred to cook for herself and her husband and Anjali was left to cook for herself and her hubby. Anjali ran helter shelter as if she was commissioned in the Iraq war to make Upma while her mother-in-law made idli with minimum fuss with the alacrity of a Zen guru.

Anjali wondered when she would master that kind of artistry over her culinary skills. Either way it would come to an end in another one month when she would be joining as a lecturer in the nearby college. She was so eager to bid good bye to kitchen and household chores.

She made sambhar and potato curry for Aakash and packed it neatly in the Tiffin box. He came dressed perfectly to the dining hall where he ate the upma without a word of neither praise nor disdain. He carried the Tiffin box and his office bag and bid good bye to her and his mom. That was the moment which she hated the most in those 24 hours. Oh yeah....the hours till he would arrive back home do get added to it. Just then she remembered that she had to complete her morning nature's call and she rushed to the rest room.

The moment she entered, she blurted an almost inaudible "shit". Being used to western type lavatory all these years, she found the Indian type rest room in Aakash's house the toughest to handle. In fact she had started to eat less just in order to reduce her time in relieving it. Aakash had told her that he would get another one built in a few weeks time. She wished these weeks passed by soon enough. Having nothing else to do Anjali sat before the computer and started to check her mails.

Her inbox was flooded with orkut scraps from her friends who had been wishing her a happy married life. Possibly everyone in their college batch had known about her love affair with Aakash and they all had come for their marriage. It was not a very happy marriage as it seemed as there was resistance from both the sides considering the usual differences of caste and status. But since nothing concrete was found to shake it up, the parents obliged half heartedly. Anjali did find it hard to breach the wall of defiance between them, but it seemed to take forever.

Somehow time ran by and it was around 8 PM. Anjali had prepared Roti and cauliflower gravy for Aakash. Her in-laws were watching some weepy soap on TV and Anjali had no choice but to read an already read Sidney Sheldon novel. Not finding it engrossing she tossed it aside and waited for Aakash to jump in. Almost 30 mins later Aakash came in and gave her a tired smile. He changed to casuals and sat on the dining table as she served him the roti and the gravy. Without any word Aakash ate it and went mechanically to the bed.

Anjali was devastated. She had not asked for the sun, moon or the stars. It was so unfair. A woman leaves her home, parents, siblings and every possible thing that had been with her since her birth and trusts some total stranger to take care of her for the rest of her life. Right from the brand of toothpaste, the toilet, the tube light switch in the bed room, the bathing soap, lunch and dinner timings, surroundings and up to the TV programs, every thing is new to her.

She has to reprogram every habit of hers to match this new home and its people and all she expects is nothing much but just a few words of love and affection. The worse part of this whole affair is that when you show your displeasure about any small thing, you are branded arrogant and non-adjustable.

How much of an effort is it to show your appreciation or happiness?

10 words? 5 minutes?

Was it too much to ask for?

Sad and desperate she lay on the bed without a word as Aakash read the Sidney Sheldon novel. At that instant she wanted to strangle the already dead Sheldon. Just that instant she felt a hand crawl by her hips and some one whispering in her ears.

"Hey darling. Did I tell you that the sambhar and potato curry was amazing today?"

She turned towards him and buried her face in his hairy chest and started to whimper. Her rain drop like tears wet his chest.

Aakash looked confused wondering what wrong had he said to cause this sudden overflow of tears.

The WishMaster

Every other job on earth is boring. Well, at least it does appear boring to the person who does it, although for a rank outsider it may appear as prestigious or enviable. It is human mentality and I guess almost 70% of the population on earth does fall into this category. I have no qualms in admitting that I belong to the elite 70%.

"Sir, the shot is ready. We can go for take." The assistant director's assistant is still in awe of me and I can clearly see it on his face. He looks like some college drop-out or one of those "you-are-handsome-to-be-on-silver-screen" keyed youngster who may have run away from home and must have found that the silver screen is just silver on front and dirty on the posterior.

Anyway I am not here to advise him as I myself fought with my dad and it took me good old 15 years to make a mark. Today I am paid a bloody hefty sum to play any role from comedian to character to villain and I am proud to say that I am versatile. That is the only thing that has stuck me in this big bad industry. My popularity was the only reason they offered me to host this program where I get to roam so many places and meet so many new people.

If you are wondering why the hell the starting paragraph and next one differ, then hang on. I am coming to it. Agreed that the program did appear new in the initial days, but it seemed boring when I kept on doing the same thing over and over. Today I am in some city in Andhra and I hope that at least this episode turns out to be good.

"Sir, ready? Take 1. Camera. Rolling. And Action"

That is the sign that I have to come to life. Here I come alive oh my dear TV viewers.

"Hello Everyone. Welcome to another episode of your favorite program 'WishMaster'. As usual today I am your host and we will meet some people and make their dreams come true. So let's see whom we meet today."

Usually I don't meet the participants before hand. It spoils the surprise and more over the chemistry wears down as I get to know them before hand. It is my style to meet them fresh along with my viewers and it is the only part that is fun.

"So hi there. What is your name young lady?"
"Hi. I am Shanti."
"Hello Shanti. You know what Shanti means?"
"Peace"
"So you never fight?"
"You want the truth?"
"You want to tell it?"
"Ok. I usually dont."
"And what do you do unusually?"
"I walk away from the person who makes me angry and cry alone."
"Don't you want to yell and shred the person to pieces?"
"What is the point? The damage is done. So I dont do it."
"And you decide to take it on yourself?"
"I can handle it. So I just cry for a while and come to terms with it."
"And you forgive them?"
"Depends. If they do realize and apologize I do forgive."
"Wow. You are quite a character Shanti."
"Thank you Sir."

"So you watch my movies?"
"I don't see many hindi movies Sir. But I have seen some of yours. Your last movie made me laugh a lot. You are very talented Sir."
"Oh. That's quite a compliment. Thanks. So who is your favorite actor Shanti?"
"Chiranjeevi."
"Oh Chiru? What do you like about him?"
"I like the way he dances. he is effortless. His action, comedy (pause) everything Sir."
"Wow. We have a die hard Chiru fan here. That's great."
"I don't miss his movies."

"Wow. So Shanti. Coming to the program, you know the way it works right?"
"Yes Sir. You select a person randomly. Ask them their wish. Then you have a small competition and then grant that wish."
"Good. Glad you completed my part of job for which my producer pays me (laugh)"
"Anytime Sir."
"So Shanti. Tell me, what is your wish?"
"You can fulfill it Sir?"
"We try. There was a case when a person wanted to dip in a pool full of money. Then once a weirdo asked for a wish to act in a scene with ShahRukh. If possible we do do it."
"(thinks) I donno Sir."
"Come on Shanti. There is must be something."
"I had thought of something. Donno if its possible."
"You want to act with Chiru in one scene?"
"(pause) Is it possible?"
"We can try. Are you ok with it?"
"(pause) Can I have one more wish granted?"
"Ok. Tell me Shanti"

She paused. At that instant her eyes dramatically turned moist. There was a pain in her eyes which could never be achieved by any glycerin on earth. She spoke her next words in almost a whisper.

"I don't want to die. I want to live for some more time."

She cried and hugged me. For the first time on the show I was speechless. Shanti, an inmate of home for HIV positive patients, was counting her days and today her outburst came alive.

The camera kept rolling as no one had the heart to say Cut.

For once I wished I was God.

P.S: Inspired from an old episode of Aerial Mr.Gold which I remembered for no reason.

Happy New Year

Prelogue

With the clock racing to 11.50 PM, RJ waited patiently for the most important thing he had been looking forward to since morning. He asked RJB4 to buy some Sky Lighters which would burst with the words HAPPY NEW YEAR on the sky. He knew that it would work.

It had to.

Read more at Happy New Year

P.S: Check my review of Taare Zameen Par here.

Hero Aala Re

My Assistant Lakhan is one stupid Idiot. He can’t do anything properly and in order. Be it adjusting the lighting, or changing lenses or anything for that matter...he is stupid to the core. But then...I was not left with many choices. He never demanded much and I pay him less to be my camera assistant. Yeah yeah....I know. You think I am such a scum who lives on someone else's moolah. Well....I gotta make a make living pal.

"Boss, are you zooming in now?" asked Lakhan.

Lakhan never knew to shut up. He could come up with the stupidest questions and wanted to know everything. I was busy getting ready to zoom in the camera for the Hero's introduction. This is the most significant part of my job and the better I cover it, the more I earn. There comes the Hero. Damn! Even I look better on mirror (hey...really I mean it). He is dark (not dusky), has a cat like moustache, and inspite of the entire heavy make up, he looks despicable enough to puke. What the heck? If your dad is a rich producer, you could even make a donkey to be a Hero.

The Hero's entry is accompanied with heavy music. A curse and irreplaceable custom in our clichéd society. The Hero smiles looking at the camera. That is a signal that I should focus it on the face of the broom...sorry...groom. He walks majestically towards camera surrounded by stupid looking extras and I pray against hope that I should be alive after this shot. I wish I had an akela crane atleast to take one extravagant shot, but since this is a low budget movie, I have to stick to my allowed resources.

Next follows the Heroine. I will tell you something out of experience. Heroine's are far better...but their moms..god help us....they are damn bitchy. Just before a shot, they come and begin with "Thambi". Being a cameraman you automatically qualify to become the Brother of the Heroine.

"Just see that she comes nice" she instructs.

Well...what do I look like? Mandrake the Magician? You can only shoot what is available. If the Heroine manages to look like Vadivukarasi or Tuntun inspite of the heavy make up, what am I supposed to do? Truly speaking, sometimes the extras accompanying the Heroine look wonderful and gorgeous. But hey….if I cover them and the producers and Directors find it out…I would be thrown out of business.

Brushing all this aside, I concentrate on the combination shots of the Hero and Heroine which are not much dialogue oriented. That’s when I get a doubt.

"Lakhan. Is this a love story?"

Lakhan looked at me as if I had discovered plutonium.

"You never read the script before the shooting Boss. How did you find it out?"

Lakhan thinks that the rest of the world is as stupid as him. It was actually quite obvious. And that too with my experience, all I need is some signs. Basically Love stories are easy to imagine and conceive, moderately complex to execute and the most difficult ones to release. You get a hint of it once you get to see the producer's reaction. THEY HATE THEM!! They just look as if they have seen some ghost eating Hyderabadi Biriyaani.

The worse things to see in my profession are when a script changes its path drastically. What was a planned Love story suddenly changes course into an action movie or a serious weepy drama to dry your tear glands. The public remains mixed in its opinion as well. While some enjoy it, the rest despise it. Well..as long as I am paid, I care a damn about it.

As the day ends, Lakhan and I pack our belongings.

"Lakhan...get our bata from the producer."

"Boss. Do we need to always talk in the filmi lingo even after the marriage is over? Cant we talk like normal camera men who cover a marriage function?"

I feel like hitting him hard. It is my dream to become a cinema camera man...and I will become one soon.

After all...isn’t life all about chasing and fulfilling our dreams?????

P.S: Advance Happy New Year wishes to everyone.

You, Me Aur Hum

He: Do you know where my socks are?
She: Must be inside your shoes. Now don’t ask me where your shoes are.
He: Got your sarcasm. Thanks for it. I am asking about my new pair of socks.
She: Why can’t you wear your old ones?
He: In this stinking weather? You want me to get kicked out of a job because of this? Imagine how weird it would be if my termination letter would read "Sacked due to smelly feet".
She: (giggling) Ok Ok Mr. Lifebuoy. You can find it in the top drawer of the cupboard.
He: Why do you always keep it there?
She: Obviously for you to find out.
He: Then why do you think I am looking for it.
She: Hmmm...lemme guess. Because you have a bad memory. Or maybe because you are a moron (smiles).
He: Yeah. At last you figured it out. Ever realized that that was the reason why I agreed to marry you?
She: Oh...is it so? And who was the one who was running behind with flowers and asking "Will you please say yes to your dad"?
He: Hmm....you see...they correctly said.
She: Said what?
He: Love is blind.
She: Smart of you to realize it so soon.
He: And what does the blind man get in return for his love? Sarcasm?
She: I thought you were oblivious to it.
He: I am what?
She: O-B-L-I-V-I-O-U-S
He: What does it mean?
She: It means you are unaware of it.
He: Why do you need to use such a heavy word? What do you think I am? Some Thesaurus included word processor? You could have said unaware?
She: Not my fault that your English knowledge is limited.
He: Ok Ms. I-am-Shakespeares-neice. Maybe you should have had a dictation test before approving me.
She: Wow!!! You are good at retaliation.
He: How do you think I cope up with you?
She: I thought you just loved me for the food I prepare.
He: That has become obvious by my paunch.
She: I am glad you acknowledge me of some sunshine in your life.
He: But thanks to your super sweet cooking I have to buy dresses every 6 months.
She: I never asked you to eat above the limit.
He: Blame yourself for making the tasty food.
She: Well...then so be it. Do you want me to cook good or not?
He: (goes near her) You are a culprit.
She: Why is that?
He: You know the secret and the quote.
She: Ahan. And what is it?
He: The royal way to a man's heart is through his stomach.
She: Is it really you or just that the chicken chops I made yesterday have sprung to life inside your stomach?
He: Hmmm....maybe both. What is it that you mix in your food that has made me your deewaana?
She: Pick your guess.
He: MDH Masala?
She: Uhummm
He: 777?
She: uhumm
He: I give up. You tell.
She: Budhdhu. Its love.
He: I knew it.
She: Then why didn’t you tell?
He: Wanted to hear it from the devil's mouth.
She: Seems you need some favour from me and that is why you are melting into an ice-cream.
He: You guessed it.
She: What is it?
He: (goes close to her ear and whispers) Do you remember where I kept my car keys?

They laugh and hug each other lovingly.

P.S: Dedicated to my darling pals Nithya and Sathya (whom you better know as Nandoo and Sat respectively) as they unite to become HUM on Dec 13. Here is wishing them all the happiness and love in the world :-)

And God smokes Marlboro....

Inspite of the centralized air-conditioning, Dr. Vishnu Prasad had beads of sweat on his face. They originated from his slightly bald head, ran through the sides of his nose and died on the mask covering his mouth. The surgery lights could not pore inside his eyes behind the glasses and show that he was afraid.

"Lalitha, get me the defribbilator" he ordered his nurse.
She handed him the solution and equipment. Even she could feel the tension in the air. He was tense but didn’t show it around. It was a trait that could only come with years of experience. There seemed to be no reaction from the patient.

‘Doctor. I think he is dead’. The team of nurses and junior doctors knew the obvious and still were hesitant to tell it to the top chief surgeon in the hospital. They knew that the man did not know to give up.

He thumped his chest again. No reaction. Dr. Vishnu picked the pulse of the patient and confirmed his worst fear. The patient was no more. He wanted to throw the machine to one corner of the room and thump on his chest with his bare fist and try to bring him back alive...but that was childish and that was not what a top doctor does. He walked out of the surgery room with the possibly saddest face ever seen. It was a coincidence that Dr. Vishnu had been wearing spectacles since his school days, but they had been useful more in these trying times.

Call it cliché of cinema, but the instant a doctor removes his spectacles while addressing the kith and kin of the deceased, they know the result before hand. He went to the college -going son of the deceased and just said "I am sorry" and walked away. He could hear the wails and cries of the wife, daughter, son and scores of some relatives who had gathered outside the theatre expecting a miracle to happen. He wanted to run away from that spot as soon as he could.

Miracle. That was what had drawn Vishnu to this profession. He could have become anything with his state top marks in school, but he chose to be a doctor. The sheer amount of adulation and respect that a doctor earns in society is only next to god. He had always dreamt to be a top surgeon and had worked very hard for it. Today his name was synonymous with quality, perfection, skill...and miracle.

He threw his hand gloves in the dust bin and washed his hands twice with the hand cleansing liquid. Slowly he walked to the near by car parking area where his Honda CRV was parked and sat on the hood. He drew a Marlboro from his pocket and gave life to it with his lighter. He realized the irony of a doctor being a smoker and still advising his patients to give up smoking to live life longer and healthier. The smoke from the cigarette seemed to draw away all his frustrations of today's operation into thin air.

Every time an operation succeeded, he felt second happy to the relatives. He realized that he had enabled someone to live few more happy or sad days with his family, witness some good functions of his or her wards, maybe make some more money, most of all...he would have saved them from being non-existent. To him the operation theatre was a battle ground and his surgical instruments, his experience and skill were his weapons he used to fight the lord of death.

The trouble was when the operation would have failed. He felt like some pile of shit when it would happen. Inspite of doing everything he could, he would have failed in his battle with death. He wished he could become a child and cry on his mom's lap. Sometimes he feared that he may need counseling for taking away their sorrows as his own. How many of them knew what a doctor goes through outside the operation theatre. He had to keep reminding himself that he was a doctor and not their near and dear.

Just then his mobile buzzed." Doctor. We have an emergency. A patient is seriously injured in an accident. Could you please check him?"

He crushed the Marlboro under the skin of his shoe and drew a long breath. It was time to fight death.

It was time to save someone and their family.

It was time to play god.

Peck on the cheek

Today at 6.30 PM, Besant Nagar beach

"Sir Murukku Sundal". The small vendor kid at the beach kept pestering Abhishek who was engrossed looking at the relentless waves. When his trick failed to make any impact, he harbored to his last resort "Sir....buy it for the pappa. She will love it." He was referring to his 7 year old daughter, who oblivious to all these happenings around her was building a sand castle with the precision of an engineer.

It seemed like a penance to her. She was so focussed that Abhishek wondered if she even realized that he was looking at her craftsmanship without battling an eye lid. Irrespective of Vasthu or Feng Shui or anything, she decided on doors, window and facade based on her moods and whims. She looked proud as if she was preparing a blue print plan for the Twin Towers.

Just as he was admiring his daughter’s creativity and commitment, he saw a women far away playing with a child and a bald guy standing right next to her. His brain cells to answer one question.

Was it her?

21 years before Central Bus Stand Trichy

She said nothing. Usually she could talk non-stop for almost 100 words per minute, but today she chose to remain silent. It was a silence of mourning, silence of loss, silence of anger and a silence of helplessness. They went to the Rockfort temple, ate samosa and poli at Chinthamani's, saw a latest movie in Maris Theatre, ate ice cream at Michael’s and walked back to the Sattiram Bus Stand. It would be possibly the last time he would see her or talk to her.

This country was filled with hypocrites. We are the second most populous country on the face of the planet. This was the land which gifted Kamasutra to the world. And still most people behave as if men and women dropped from tree tops and not the "natural" way. When a man and woman talk outside, they had to be either lovers or siblings but could not be friends. The stares of the so called "society" are so narrow minded that it narrows the relationships to nothing.

For the past one month she had been avoiding him and he had been puzzled by that. One day he confronted her and asked her straight if she didn’t like him and his friendship. The answer was something that he had not expected. She had attained womanhood and so her strict orthodox parents were shifting her to a ladies boarding school somewhere in Ooty. At the outset it seemed ridiculous to him, but anyone who had known her orthodox family or parents would understand that there are people who still live in rock ages.

He had been her best friend for the past few years and the thought of a day without her seemed like the Mona Lisa painting without her smile. He saw her straight into the eye for one last time and nodded his head. He then presented her a pair of earrings he bought for her from his little pocket money. Tears flowed from her eyes and she walked away without a good bye.

He remembered how it had all started on one fine day of fighting.

30 years before at Mr. Ethiraj's Tuition Center

"May I come in Sir?" quizzed the little pony tailed girl and entered into the 600*600 room. She was wearing the pink colored checked uniform for girls with a new bata shoe. Seemed somewhat rich kid. The general practice being seated in the alphabetic order, she was seated next to Abhishek. He gave her a mean look. She had separated him from his dear pal Balaji with whom he had shared the bench for the past month. She had eyes like buttons, round cherubic face and a pony tail which hardly was held by a rubber band.

She gave him a warm smile and he smirked in return which showed clearly that he was in a hostile mood.
When Mr. Ethiraj went to drink water downstairs, he pulled her pony tail as an angry gesture.
"How dare you do that?" she squealed like a rat caught between the door.
He laughed. She was in pain and he enjoyed it.

Another half an hour later she yelled at him again.
"You took my Tom and Jerry eraser without asking me? How dare you do it?"
"What are you going to do? Squeak like Jerry?" he laughed at his lame joke as his friends joined in.

"I told you never to touch my bag without asking me." She was yelling at the top of her voice and was close to sobs.
Mr. Ethiraj just popped in and beat him with his customary thick stick.
He asked him to apologize to her and he realized that it was not her fault that she was seated next to him.

Then she introduced herself.

"Hi. I am Avanthi and I am new here. What is your name?"

Today at 6.40 PM

It was getting darker and they had to get home early. She looked at the sand castle by running around it and beamed which meant that she had accomplished her mission. Abhishek took a picture of the sand castle with his Mobile camera and showed it to her. She jumped and squealed as if she had won the Architect of the year award. They walked towards the parking lot when she started to run without any warning.

"Avanthi Stop. Dont run."

He had named her in memory of his long lost dear friend.

The women with the child turned back and looked at him.

He looked like someone familiar from her past.

Oops...I did it again

I admit that I am possibly the laziest blogger alive. Originally I wanted to write a blog to chronicle my thoughts and views with news, songs, reviews and everything.

Sometime later, I started writing stories and now they never seem to end. In a way this blog of mine has become identifiable with stories and nothing else. So when a sudden desire arose in my mind to have a news and commentary blog, I had to start a fresh one.

This blog is my lazy but pampered child and it will remain the same. This other BLOG of mine will be a news and commentary blog and will be something “Just like that”. I hope to write something or other regularly in this blog and keep it up. Lets see how far I keep up my word.

As usual…your priceless reviews and comments are welcome.

Whenever Hum Mile

She: "Sorry. I am late."
He: "Do you realize that you say this almost every other day?"
She: "I said sorry. Duh"
He: "I beg the bus boy almost daily to stop it for you."
She: Don't worry. I will get him a new T Shirt for New Year as a favor.
He: You can't be serious can you?
She: Why? Did he speak bad words at you?
He: That's what has been missing. The look he gave...damn...I feel disgusted.
She (almost whispers): So what do you want me to do as a return favor?
He (whispers): It's actually quite simple.
She (huskily): What is it my darling bubblegum?
He (huskily): Come to bus stop atleast 2 minutes before for heavens sake.
She: Hmmmm...back to square one.
He: Why do you always come late?
She: I told you a 1000 times. I have to help mom make Tiffin for morning, lunch for my brother and dad and also get ready to come to office.
He: Why don't you have a maid servant at home? Is you dad so stingy (grins)?
She: You can't stop pulling my dad's legs can you?
He: Well..you are welcome to do the same to my dad.
She: hee hee...stop laughing. That was a bad joke.
He: Ok....easy tiger. So what did you eat?
She: Idly.
He: With?
She: My mom and brother.
He: haa haa...Very funny.
She: ok ok...chill. With milagai podi.
He: No chutney?
She: In all the morning rush, it is kinda hard.
He: God. Will you do the same after you marry me?
She: (pretends to think hard) Depends on how you mom helps me do the morning chores.
He: I will tell you now itself. I prefer idly with chutney.
She: And what if I decline to prepare chutney?
He: Well...Rupa is always there.
She: Who? That rat faced girl opposite your house?
He: You know that she has a crush on me.
She: If that twitch that’s slowly beginning to show by the side of your lips means a blush, then... (Drags her voice)
He: What will you do?
She: Haven't you heard in tamil "kolayum seyvaal paththini"
He: (moves back) Yappa. I am getting married to a very very violent girl.
She: Better you get that right Mr. Yaada Yaada.
He: Why is our conversation so banal and clichéd?
She: Huh. That's because the idiot in our heads have exhausted all the goody-goody words last night and are now suffering from what I call a talker's block.
He: Hehe! So, what about last night Darling?
She: Yeah right! It’s the telephone conversation we were having while you were busily looking out of your window into that Going-to-be-Ms.Universe Rupa's apartment.
Me: Oops. Game over :-(
She: Oho! So after these few months you can’t even continue a conversation with me for more than 2 mins huh?
He: Oi Sweet Cheeks! Look, you don’t get it. Let me explain.
She: Ah there you go again. The Choochpooch and the Blah blah's.
He: (moves closer and whispers) Honey, you know what? You are so hot I could book a room without heater in Switz for our honeymoon. What say?
She: (sarcastically laughs) Haha! So funny! And you know what? You are so sweet the ice caps there might just turn into Kucchi ice!
He: Damn! I thought of using those lines during our honeymoon. You stole it. :(
She: Youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!!
He: Ok ok. Peace. If you are so mad at me, why don't you return all my kisses?
She: !!!!!

Ctrl+Alt+Del

It was raining. Not that he cared, but he wished he could just look at the tiny drops of water fall under the spell of gravity like he did in his childhood days. At 2 AM, the whole bay was deserted and he was the sole occupant of the area which was usually filled with around 400 insomniac busy bees.

It was not scary, but depressing. Abhishek was not able to concentrate on the error message and the bug really bugged him. The developer who developed the module was out with conjunctivas and hence his senior and Mentor Abhishek had no choice but to fix things up. It had been quite a while since he had done any sort of coding stuff since being promoted as a team Leader.

Cursing the bug, he decided that maybe he needed coffee to refresh his senses. He went down to the first floor and found the coffee boy sleeping sitting in the chair. Not willing to disturb him, Abhishek placed the coffee cup beneath the machine and pressed Strong coffee. It was his 7th (or 8th?) coffee of the day. He wondered if someday his blood would turn brown in color. After filling the cup to the brim, he picked a 50-50 packet and placed exactly Rs.8 near the book log. As he walked back, he saw a pair walking to catch their late night cab.

It reminded him of his friend Murugan who worked in the same project a few months back. There was a girl called Manasi in their project and she was a gregarious and a nice girl. Murugan mistook her openness for liking and out of the blue proposed to her. It’s quite strange but men do not realize the consequences when they like something or someone. For them the ultimate aim is the possession of it at any cost. Practicality takes a holiday on those issues.

Women on the other hand are mature. They draw a line in relationships and do not cross it. They are clear about what they want from life and also look at every possible impact of a decision that they make. Manasi politely refused and said that they could be friends but not life partners. Murugan behaved good for a while, but soon his impatience and stupidity took over and he made threats of suicide if she didn’t oblige. Unable to take it no more, Manasi complained to the HR and Murugan was terminated. It was sad that no one even bid a goodbye to him nor felt sorry for him as he packed his belongings.

Ironically life does not come with a Ctrl Z option to go back and correct our mistakes. What’s done stays done and things come to a dead end. The rule applied to Abhishek as well. He wanted to be an IAS officer in his school days. But fate played a different role when he got selected in the campus and gradually lost the motivation. He had worked unearthly hours to earn the good will of his superiors, but had turned an insomniac in the process. For the outside world IT is a lucrative world with fat paypackets and rich perks. How many wondered what went behind the closed doors and prison like enclosures?

He was reminded of the trick used to catch monkeys with peanuts. The monkey clutches the peanuts placed in a small jar that is tied to a tree. Since its fist is full of peanuts, it will not fit through the mouth of the jar, so the monkey’s hand will be stuck – he won’t be able to get his hand out of the jar that is tied to the tree. The monkey will let himself be caught by the hunter rather than let go of the peanuts. The monkey does get the peanuts...but only behind the bars.

Not to sound very pessimistic but there were perks of this profession. He had bought jewels and gifts for his mom and wife, had admitted his daughter in the top school in the city, traveled to foreign countries with his family, bought a house in Ashok Nagar and of course the huge pay package he received every month end. But he had butchered his ambitions as price for the happiness.

He saw the rain drops on the window go down at a leisurely pace. Some things go at their own pace irrespective of the way the whole world functions. Inspite of the coffee, he felt sleepy. Unable to concentrate and unwilling to work anymore, Abhishek decided enough was enough. He locked his machine and walked out of his bay. As he almost placed his access card, he heard the phone ring. He knew that it must have been from the onsite coordinator about the status of the bug. For once he thought of returning back, but changed his mind.

He knew what their next target would be. He picked up his mobile and switched it off. As he did so, unknowingly there was a smile on his face.

Gods must be crazy

Disclaimer: Try to read it just like any work of fiction without any assumption.

They were seated in the shape of a triangle surrounding the carom board. The game was intense with each man trying to outwit the other and garner points. But then they had been bosom pals for long and victory or defeat was not doing to crack their friendship.

God1: Gotta admit buddy. Your back shot is awesome. You never miss.

God2: You should play with my mom. She never misses any strike.

God3: Wish I had someone like that who could have trained me.

God1: Dont worry chum. Life is all but a learning process.

God2: Well said dude. Wonder why many don't realize it.

God3: Hey switch the TV on. Did you see the report on the sting operation on TV yesterday night?

God1: (after some silence) Yeah I did. One sick report. The details are damn gruesome.

God2: I was numbed by the reactions of the concerned parties.

God3: I have got used to them. "Opposition's efforts to sabotage our reputation." "This is done to dent our votes". Is democracy just about votes? What happened to "By the People, of the people and For the people"?

God1: That's just for the books. You will see them asking for votes shamelessly waving to the people as if they have just won some Olympic medal.

God2: And I can’t believe we created these morons in first place.

God3: Hey I have a doubt. Your folks are fighting over some bridge you built. What happened to it?

God1: Dont even talk about it.

God2: Why?

God1: Even my wife for whom I built the bridge is so angry with it. She can’t believe that they are making an issue out of this.

God2: They ask for votes with these issues?

God3: Mob is just like a domino effect. You push one in the stack and then see the rest fall.

God1: Some times I wonder if there is any difference between humans and sheep.

God2: Gosh. These images on TV are so sick.

God3: Why do your people behave so savagely? One guy claims to have killed a pregnant lady. Are your guys so sick?

God1: Hey. Dont you remember what your guys did? Didn’t they keep bombs everywhere?

God2: Hey. Why are you too shouting at each other?

God3: As if you are the holy one. Your guys give money to people to transform. Your guys do everything in the name of saving the country.

God1: You forgot oil buddy.

God2: Hey. You talk as if there is no problem there. In my place they fight in the name of color. How sick you think it makes me?

God3: Why did your guys break our temple?

God1: They even chanted my name before killing your folks. How do you think it appeals to me?

God2: Yeah. In no almanac or Holy Scriptures we have asked them to fight for us. They why do they do this?

God3: Simple. Votes? Oil? Money? Positions? Fame?

God1: Inspite of the fact that all 3 of us have preached common things.

God2: Like?

God3: 1. Nobody is immortal. Everybody’s final destination is a six feet resting space.

2. Love thy fellow human being.

3. Distribute your wealth.

4. Live in harmony.

God1: Everybody knows this.

God2: Then why do they kill one another? Why do they act as if they are blood thirsty?

God3: Wish they knew that the men in who's name they fight below, are playing carom together and are bosom friends.

God1: What do we do the people who instigate all this and spoil our name as well?

God2: Dont worry. That is not our headache.

God3: Why is that?

God1: Simple. Either way they go to hell.

God2: We better ask our folks over there to keep the oil extra hot.

God3: As if that is going to cleanse their dirty souls.

God1: Oh damn! Its 9 PM. I better go or wife will be angry.

God2: Oops! Time to report to mom.

God3: At least there is one thing we are same as humans.

God1 and God2: What?

God3: We are all afraid of the women in our lives.

Johnny Gaddaar?

She kissed me as she left the bed. I am sure that at this moment I would be the most cursed soul of the entire male fraternity in this area.

Most of the men around would give their arms, legs and everything for her one touch. And here she was..laying on the bed...waiting for my kiss. I kissed her gently and she smiled. She got up from the twin bed and marched with her usual elegance to the bath room. She was dressed in her night gown and yet she looked beautiful enough to cause a Tsunami (I am bored of quoting traffic jam :P).

I looked at her framed picture beside the bed and wondered what was the almighty thinking before making her. He must have been in some supreme form and mood to have carved her. Her oval face, slender cheek bones, the perfectly chiseled nose, naturally rosy lips and a chic athletic figure could even tempt the most austere monks to give up their celibacy. No wonder I fell head over heels in love with her.

She came out in her bath robes and smiled at me. No words exchanged. She went to the nearest dressing table and combed her hair. I was feeling too lazy to get up from the bed...but still I preferred being in her company. We ate our breakfast on the dining table watching Good Morning India which was laden with news of bomb blasts, political back stabbing, over paid stars and as-usual-failed cricketers. She kept changing channels till she landed on "Aao Naa" from Kyon ho Gaya Na.

She smiled at me instantly as she knew it was my favorite song. We then decided to go to the park near our apartment. Being a Saturday, the park was filled with under-aged run-away lovers, college students and bored & fat middle aged men. Almost the whole park seemed to be looking at her. I felt like the Onida Devil mouthing "Neighbor's envy owner's pride".

We sat at one end of the park and wondered what to do next. We kissed much to the dismay of the fat middle aged gentlemen who looked as if he could turn to ashes. She got up and threw the tennis ball far across the park. I ran as fast as I could and came back victoriously.

"Smart boy my Johnny Darling". She said and rubbed my fast wagging tail. I was waiting for my incentive and expectedly she handed me another sweet kiss.

Throw as far as you can darling…Johnny hai naa…..

P.S.: Inspired from a Jeffery Archer short story.

Mr. Yogi and the 2 rupee coin

Mr. Yogi squirmed. He was standing behind 19 people in the queue to buy train ticket from Pallavaram to Saidapet. The railway station was as usual crowded and the heat wave just made it worse.

The railway track was littered with cups, plates, frooti bottles, left overs and smelled good enough to puke your stomach out. Some characters who were anxious enough to get to the office stuck their neck out to watch the train arrive, spit on the tracks. Mr. Yogi who was once a co-offender for the same offense, now felt like throwing them down on the tracks. Some things never change.

The train arrived and it was crowded as usual. It was so crowded that one guy was checking an sms in his mobile and the person next to him was reading it along with him. It was then that Yogi realized that he was the inhabitant of the second most populous country on the face of the earth. It seemed as if one person was breathing air released from other person. Inspite of the space available inside the compartment, romeos preferred to hang outside to lure the juliets and do acrobatics which one day was sure to land them in hospital beds (or worse mortuary wards) rather than their beloved's hearts.

Almost 75% of people inside the train either seemed frustrated, impatient, bored or angry with their life with the exception of the lovers at one end of the train, the 3 year old kid seated on his mother's lap enjoying the company of the mute bear and the bum seated near the exit who either knew nothing or knew everything. Most of them seemed like a mountain waiting to erupt their emotions out. Mr. Yogi just prayed that he better be not the pin to prick anyone and get their lava of anger all over himself.

And then it happened. He entered singing some song in some language with a harmonium around his neck followed by her. He was wearing an old worn out white shirt with a tattered lungi with a towel around his shoulder. She was about 6-7 years old wearing an yellow tattered frock and was sweating profusely with lot of innocence and pain in her little eyes. As he sung, she went around the compartment with her little arms asking for help. The gentleman at the end of the compartment who nodded in the beginning then began fiddling his pocket and put something in her hands.

Her little hands were full of 1 and 2 rupee coins. Mr. Yogi wanted to get up from his seat and grab that singing bastard's collar and ask him why was she begging for alms when she should have been in the school singing "twinkle twinkle little stars". She came near him and just raised her arms without speaking a word. Mr. Yogi searched in his shirt pocket and found a 2 rupee coin which he thrust in her little arms. How he wished he had all the money of the filthy rich, corrupt politicians, extravagant socialites, overpaid cricketers and could help these kids restore their world with innocence instead of such wickedness and pain?

His heart yearned to take her out in the next station, feed her fully, admit her in some destitute home and arrange for her eduction. Alas it was the stuff that was reserved for cinema heroes to perform in the movies. Yogi was just a common man on a day's work who could just dream of reforming the society but could do only as little as 10% of it in ways that he knew. He felt numb and helpless that he did not have the power to reform anything and everything. Everyone of us on earth have to bear our burden of sorrows and that was the way the world worked.

As the train stopped he realzied that the train had reached guindy. The man and the girl walked out of his compartment and rushed to the next compartment. Just then Mr Yogi's mobile confirmed that it was alive and it was just another stupid Airtel promotional message asking him to check his future for a few bucks. Just when Mr. Yogi thrust his mobile back into his pocket, his hand stumbled on a coin. It was a 2 rupee coin. Mr. Yogi could still hear the man singing in the alien language and could imagine the girl innocently begging for either her food or her father's liquor or maybe both.

Mr. Yogi looked at the 2 rupee coin. Maybe it was destined for some other kid in some other place for some other time......

The Pact

He saw his watch for the 10th time in 2 minutes. It was funny that he was patient through the 22 hour flight in air, but impatient with these few minutes of hovering of the flight on the ground.

On any normal day he might have got useless doubts on how a pilot would possibly get a license by circling an "8" with an aircraft. But today was not the day for such stupid and mundane questions. He had released his seat belt long ago and was waiting for the announcement. He had already secured his hand luggage and was ready to run just on the word 'Go'. Pity that he was seated at the rear end of the craft and had to wait till all the passengers moved out of the metal bird at snail's pace. He curbed himself from running with his hand trolley as he did not want to be caught on suspicion or worse be chased by sniffer dogs and be smothered to pieces looking like some street beggar.

Ah....the immigration check! Damn! He had forgotten to fill the immigration form. He searched his hand trolley for a pen and he seemed to find everything including his old forgotten worn out toothbrush but a pen. The old man standing next to him understood his predicament and lent him an old Reynolds pen. Damn you Parker, Cross and Mont Blanc. As he looked at his filled form, he realized that it looked like some cryptographic manuscript of the Da Vinci Code than an immigration form. Even he was unable to understand some of his answers.

The middle aged lady looked at his passport and at him for 2 long minutes. She could not understand how the bespectacled, cat-mustached and innocent looking young man in the passport could now transform into a dark, tense and stupid looking fellow in a span of few years. Well....so be it and she asked him to leave. Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, he rushed to the baggage counter. Hail Murphy's law!! In all these days of his travel encounter, he used to collect his baggage in just 2 minutes, but today when it mattered the most, he could not spot them for almost 10 minutes. Every other bag looked like his but had a different name. Finally his 2 American Travelers bags arrived and he pushed them grudgingly on the hand trolley.

And then he looked at her waiting outside the lounge. She was wearing a short cream colored kurti and blue jeans. He had worn the black T-Shirt and blue jeans as they had promised each other. He pushed his trolley outside with his heart beat racing at the speed of light as he looked at her. Instinctively he forgot how he should react. Should it be a "Hi" or "Hey honey" or a kiss?

Her small peas like eyes were moist and every tear spoke of her affection for him. Her small pink lips didn't speak. She was blushing and had turned pink. Before he could decide on his move, she snatched his hand and hugged him. He was completely thrown off his feet by surprise. She wet his shirt with her sweet tears of love.

He wished that the hour hand would never meet the minute hand and hence it would never give birth to the second hand. He wished that time could stay frozen forever in this moment. They seemed oblivious to the fact that they were in a crowded place and were surrounded by scores of people. She never asked him "Why it had taken so long to meet her" and he didn't answer "It had taken all his efforts to make this happen". It was as if they had made a pact - a pact of silence.

As she pushed the trolley with her child like hands, he put his hands around her shoulders. She smiled. They didn't speak. They needn't.

P.S: At last managed a happy ending love story :-)

Mr. Yogi and the candy bar

Mr Yogi's 2 month uncut hair breezed along. It was not as if he was trying to give some serious competition to John Abraham or Hritik Roshan. It was just that he was lazy enough to get a haircut and also because it cost him 16 dollars in US against the usual Rs 30 in his country. Once a middle class perhaps always remains a middle class.

Looking at his year old worn out MotoRazr phone, he was reminded of his conversation with his cousin in the morning. It began with the usual round of "how-are-you-and-your-parents-in-india" talks to "when-are-you-getting-imprisoned(marraige)" stuff. It then shifted gears when his cousin asked him to change his L1B visa to a H1B. Hearing this idea Mr Yogi laughed as if he had just seen Shahrukh speak without stuttering.

His cousin still not sure what was so funny in it told him that it was logical indeed. When you have all the facilities in this country and you get overpaid for a job for which you were paid peanuts in India, what was wrong with staying here?

Th basic idea of most of the average joes who land in US as software experts is to come here for almost an year odd, get married, bring his wife, stay for another 2 years till his visa expires, go home on a vacation and renew it, come back, have kids, wait till they grow to 3-4 years and then run away to motherland. Well....it does sound like a plan...until someone interferes.

That is when your dear friend tells you from India that the salary here is meagre compared to US. Your wife who has lived long enough as an independent bird without any knitpick (read inlaws) will shell out reasons of comfortable life here and welfare of kids. Your kids who have now started to speak with an english accent look like the brown version of

Leonardo De Caprio or Drew Barrymore and you wonder how will they adapt to the Indian living conditions of 12 months of sunshine, frequent powercuts and water diseases. You yourself wonder if you can cope up with the long queue for water, constant traffic jams, never-ending bribery etc etc. Why bother to take the path full of thorns when you have a cement road laid ahead?

And that is how an year becomes 2, 2 becomes 5, 5 becomes 10 and then you wonder what happened to your initial plan of staying for an year and settling at your place. As his cousin asks Mr Yogi "Come on Yogi. Dont you think that you can earn enough money to remain happy for long?" They all say that...dont they? Money is an aphrodisiac and it is hard for most of the human beings on earth to be content with their earthly possesions. Why?

You go to a shop to buy candy bars. You happen to see a 5.1 surround home theatre DTS surround and decide to buy it. After the speakers arrive you realize that your 25 inch TV isnt the perfect match for it. So you buy a 40 inch plasma HD TV. Then you realize your old sofa is not the one to sit and enjoy your TV. So you buy a plush leather seating black sofa to enrich the movie experience. Then you realize that the whole hall looks small for your plans and you need a big (read grand) hall to maintain your status. So you end up buying a bigger palatial house or a flat. Now next you need a car to match ths status of this house.......

Whoa whoa....you think that this is exaggerated? Ask the ones who have gone through this whole material cycle. Ironically...it all starts with the hunger for a bar of chocolates. Then Mr. Yogi saw an Oreo biscuit and felt like eating it. And then he realized....

....that there was a greater joy in eating milk bikis dipping it in the filter coffee prepared by his mom....in his own home.

P.S: Good bye US and hello India
P.S1: Freaked out colleagues...friends...and parents by arriving unannounced :-)

The Lovely Niagara

I love my dear S2IS :-)

The Pocketwatch

Today

He was clean shaven. The smell of the old spice cologne was in the air even though an hour had passed since the barber shaved his 5 year old beard. 5 years. 5 precious years in life.

He walked out with the new dress and few hundreds in his pocket given to him by the captain of the ship who found him unconscious in water. God knows how he was going to repay him. But for now they didn’t seem to be the cause of his worries. He had to go to his town and see her. It had been 5 years since he had seen her.

5 Years before
“You look beautiful in this black turtleneck” he said.

“Don’t try to flatter me and change the subject” she sounded angry. She was.

“I am not lying. You indeed look beautiful” he tried to put his hands around her neck and drag and kiss her which she fended off.

She was indeed angry. Her cheeks had become pink with anger and her normally cute cherubic cheerful face today appeared very serious and gloomy.

“So you are going away for real?” she was close to tears.

“Don’t say like that darling. I promise I will be back as soon as the assignment gets over.”

“Do you remember that in a month we are going to get married?”

“How can I forget that darling? It is just that my boss wants me to complete this assignment. And it is only for 15-20 days. I will be back before you realize I was gone.”

He took her hands in his hands and kissed them. She hugged him and wet his shirt with her sweet tears.

“Come soon. I will be waiting for you.”

He smiled and ran into the private charter plane as it was raining heavily. He waved her good bye before he boarded into the plane. He looked at the pocket watch that she gave him as Birthday present with her photo in it. She was beautiful.

Today
The town had changed a lot. 5 years is a lot of time in life. Empires tumble, technology advances, shops renovate, new malls come up, old ones crumble, people get married or get divorced, have kids, die…but unacceptably they change. He was not sure how much he had to catch up to know the new stuff around.

Every one seemed to be talking on a cell phone or were wearing some white colored ear phone connected from their pant pockets to the ears. Must be radio he thought. He was not sure if he recognized most shops or its owners. Neither did he want to meet any of them. He bought a rose from a roadside shop. It was her favorite white rose.

2 years before
Day 1000. He had kept count of the days by scribbling on the wall like as in the Count of Monte Christo. He remembered day one as much as yesterday. It was the most horrific day of his life. The charter plane got caught in turbulence and it crashed into an unknown island about an hour after take off. He woke up the next day to find all his colleagues dead….and as the lone survivor in the plane crash on a lonely island.

He waited for help to arrive. Days turned into months, months into years and still there was no sign of any help. He tried many times to swim but the oceanic currents would sap his energy in a few 100 feet. He had learnt to make fire by rubbing igneous rocks, he had become an expert fish catcher, and he learnt to climb trees. In short, he had become a caveman in modern times.

All he had with him to survive was her thoughts and her love. Each and every minute he would think of all the happy moments he spent in her company. Her poodle like curly hair, her beautiful grey eyes, her sensuous lips, her childlike small but artistic fingers, the curves of her body, her gentle warmth, her toenails….very importantly….her sweet voice. All he had now with him was dead silence and her memories. Precious memories.

He looked at the worn-out-and-stopped-but-still-precious pocket watch. She was beautiful.

Today
Nobody was going to recognize him. Neither did it matter if anyone did. He had become skinny in these 5 years. His soft facial features became rugged and he looked 10 years older than his original age. What should he say to her when he sees her after so long? Should he hug and kiss her?

But his stomach churned when he thought…What if she didn’t recognize him?

3 days before
Her only memory was her photo in the pocket watch that she gave. Every day he saw it and told himself that one day someone would come and help him. He would talk to himself aloud to keep reminding himself that he could talk, tell her how much he still loved her after he meets her and how her love had kept him alive for so long.

He looked at the watch again. It looked as if the sun shined to illuminate her beautiful eyes. He remembered how much she loved and cared for him. He loved everything about her and to him she was perfect no matter what others thought or said. He saw her eyes in the blue sky. He heard her voice in the sea shells. He tasted her kiss in the salty ocean water. She was everywhere….and she was nowhere.

Suddenly he felt empty. He felt dead. The whole exercise of living to be alive felt stupid. Harnessing all his energy he cut few trees, tied them with whatever he could find and built a small raft. He looked at the ocean.

He looked at the pocket watch and her photo. Come what may, he was going to swim or die.

Today
He stood at least 100 meters outside her house. Something told him that she would be living in the same house even after 5 years. He confirmed it when he saw her black Honda Car parked outside. She appeared opening the door. She looked as beautiful as she did 5 years before.

He was afraid his heart might forget beating after seeing her after so long.

Just as he marched towards her, out came a man with a child sleeping in his arms.

“You forgot the kid honey” he said and kissed her.

“Oh cmon. Being mother doesn’t mean that I only need to care about him. You can surely do it as a father.”

She said with a fake anger. The same fake anger she always displayed whenever he would play a prank on her.

“Ok Ok. Now don’t shout at me. Drive safe and be home soon.” Her husband kissed her farewell again.

The whole world seemed to be spinning around him. He should have expected it. She didn’t do anything wrong and he would have done the same if he were in her shoes. Just that his poor little heart doesn’t understand it.

He walked back in the way he had arrived. It would be better for everyone if he remained dead to her. He boarded a bus in the bus stop. He looked at the white rose, smiled and kept it in the flower vase in the front row of the bus.

He looked at the pocket watch once again. He had replaced the battery and it had started to work again. He could turn the time on the watch, but unfortunately not in his life.

She was beautiful.

P.S: Inspired from Tom Hanks’s soulful performance in Cast Away