God, challenge me, grill me, put me in trouble, but ensure that I have a stack of cash and presence of mind and the grace that you could shower on me and I will come through anything. Not that I believe in the slogan “ It’s all about money, honey”, but then god could take shapes, sizes and one of the prime shapes he could take is on paper, with Mahatma Gandhi and a governors sign on it.
This post is not about facing troubles, not about having money, it’s about different combinations that some one above puts you through and makes you feel that comfort is a rare equation that you scarcely reach when alive. It’s like a goal in a football match, where in the mid fielder has to run through, dribble a couple of defenders, pass it on to the striker, he has to choose the right time to hit it, sync it with enough power and placement and ultimately the ball has to shake the net’s behind the loser’s back. Any miss in the whole series of actions, the whole set up tanks, life is as delicate as that.
Days when, pockets were empty and the future dark, problems were approached with a different attitude, the brute force way, let it come and I will take then head on!!!! (As if there was a choice). The worry was more about what would come first and prayers to god more on scheduling the problems based on the assumed intensity. Prayers as simple as let the personnel from the electricity board not visit my place, let him forget about the unpaid bills. Prayers that would make people burst into laughter, prayers to god about your dad coming home without the smell of rum etc. But then problems were never solved, it was either postponed to become a bigger one or to die away as the intensity dips. This is a set-up where god tests you with traits like skin thickness, shamelessness, where in he makes you look like a one year old in a topless bar. People, usually pull through this phase with lot of negativity and end up being habitual to this mode. I would call it “hold on tight mode”.
You would think that it’s over but then the problems you had while living in a home that leaks during winter, where in you would walk miles to make a single phone call are much more less complex ones, cause these are the states you go through shit when you are in it already (Neck Deep !!!). God would set-up another phase for you, if you are worth it and if you held really tight, and this phase is tougher. Money the Mr.Fix it flows through your hands, you expect it to solve problems, seldom it does. You now have problems to manage it right, to think about fixing problems is much more complex than waiting for it to happen, God promotes you and every promotion is a pain (You are now into stuff that you have not done and your previous expertise is no longer serving you.).
Money will create problems, if you do not understand the flow of it, whether the right people are handling it, whether your demand matches supply etc. Your prayers change, interaction with god changes, It would be about fixing problems, rather that prioritizing it’s arrival. This is a thinking phase and the all mighty might play a joke by taking away presence of mind and decision making skills. Realization of mistakes against the time it was committed, will play a major role in this phase. If you mess up, you would again be Rocky Balboa waiting for problems to come hard and hit you. Seeing through this phase would take a good 8-10 years and ultimately you have arrived.
God sits there still, looking at his loving son, whispers “Son from waiting problems to happen now you are trying to solve problems, far are not those days where in you would work towards getting problems fixed before they even happen”. You are always on the run, you taking a break from the race wouldn’t mean that world has complied, problems are always there what matters is how you deal with it. Run, hard and learn to enjoy it, as if we have a choice Bloody Rat Racers!!!!!.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
' 99 A walk back home
Sitting beside me Prithvi was weeping, 1:00 am, a November night ’99, most importantly the last day of school life. We walked together holding hands, from the annual day venue to the nearest main road. Walking past the walls of the school, imagining life beyond the walls, could bring us nothing else than tears. Prithvi, was one of the shortest and the most mischievous amongst us, he was the silent killer of the gang. A good athlete and a silent observer, seeing him cry is like rain during a hot Indian merciless summer.
We walked past the main Gate, it proudly read, Sadan Central School. An English Medium school is a big deal in any village, our’s was the best in that vicinity. Peeping into the Security room, Prithvi yelled, look we have Sethu Annan sleeping, smells of arrack! I peeped in and saw, our schools protector, sleeping half naked covering himself by the lungi which he wore (Exuberant in color, silky in texture our Lungi’s a infamous). As usual, Prithvi pelted a stone at him and ran, and me taken by shock ran behind him. We reached the main road in a flash, thanks again to Prithvi and the cheeky act. All the friends had left with their parents or had taken refuge in the hostel; we decided to walk back to Prithvi’s home just six kilometers away.
It was a cold November night and we knew, life was going to take a big turn. RT, talkies was playing another adult movie, Prithvi cribbed looking at the poster, I told you, we could have watched this rather than your chick’s Bharthanatyam. Shakeela the porn star was in full swing during late 90’s, posters with her sari dripping down; exposing her Cleavage was a common item in every porn menu. I laughed; Prithvi was an amazing friend, always there to support. Behind the stage, I was supposed to meet, Divya, the slim, thin and the most sorted out girl in school. She would come backstage and I could meet her alone, she wanted to talk.
Backstage meetings are fun, I had to get around the girls dressing room and reach the rendezvous , She had to fool teachers, her friends and most importantly her mother, Mrs. conservative Sita Ammal. The moment I came to know the plan, we had called a meeting, Nisar and Najib, clearly denied me from meeting her, the consequences could extend to a suspension. Ashfaq as usual remained neutral though vouched to support, Prithvi told, “Machan, you have the chance, and you must do it”. Eyes gleaming with enthusiasm he said, nothing would go wrong, He would watch my ass, I got the message.
Walking past the Girls dressing room, I could hear Divya’s sweet voice; she was ready for the dance and was awaiting her turn. I walked fast, Prithvi, way behind, signaling to move forward. I was confident, nothing would go wrong, waiting in the dark, behind the stage, precisely under the bamboos holding the stage, I was waiting for the moment. I could hear the sound of anklets, it was her, she had slid out and came running, I was squatting under the main stage and she ducked and held my hands, taking deep breaths. The deafening sound of our music teacher performing on stage, frogs and insects screeching, pitch dark woods ahead of us sent a chill down my spine, but her hands could make me forget everything. She was nervous, wanted to talk but was gasping, sweat was wiping away the thick cream our make-up man had applied, she smelled of Jasmine. We spoke; it was a four year old love affair, for the first time we met alone. Blood rushed through my veins, she was breathing down my neck and I could smell her sweat, little beads of them falling on my shoulder. I held her tight and she planted a kiss, a juicy, slimy, sweaty one. Under that make shift, stage, November night weather I saw heaven, I kissed her back, first on her forehead, then on her nose and then on the lips. I could taste something sweet, love and lipstick deadly combo!!!!!. My principal, had a voice which easily could be used to break stones, I felt her heart thumping and held her even closer, and then came the announcement asking Divya to come backstage. “Panic” would be an understatement, Sita Ammal was already in and around the ladies toilet, we could hear people searching for Divya. She pushed me and ran towards the water pipe, near the gents toilet on the other side of the stage, I sat there frozen. Prithvi whistled safety and I started my walk back, Divya’s performance on stage started, she had gone around the stage and come in through the main entrance.
Prithvi was pulling my leg, through out until, tears rolled out of my eyes, I loved her more than anything and I felt her that day, the warmth of a woman can get anyone going. Being a motherless child, her love was the only source of compassion. I cried, again, Prithvi had a hand on his forehead and was consoling me, “Da you could still be together, we all will be together no worries”. I hugged him, he felt my pain, I knew he felt it.
Prithvi was an overprotected kid, with a big family and lot of relatives, he could not even piss without being noticed, watching a porn movie in the near by talkies was just a dream, anyways he loved those movies and we watched them secretly. Prithvi, was walking along, singing hits from bollywood movies, music was a passion for him. Sitting in the middle row, all we did was to hum the latest hits, mix them into a desi version or bring out a pattern in these songs. Prithvi would come running at sharp 9:20 and announce “Today its Akshay Kumar hits” and that would mean all day we sang “Chura ke Dil mera”.
I would, look back at the corner seat of the girls row and Divya would be looking at me, our eyes would meet, exchange messages and Prithvi would pinch me when the teacher was about to notice. Being a good student was my birth right and I never did anything more to be one, was never attentive, never studied anything at the hostel but always got the marks. I was a miracle kid, my friends used to love me though their parents had a nightmare, knowing their kids inclusion in my friends list. We walked, in front of our friend’s home, decided to ease out. Prithvi was painting the compound wall with all the names he hated. Easing out, during the first break of the day was a competition; the same kicked off by our gang. The urinal was quite big, with shoulder level cement barricades segregating each other. The tached roof above, would let the sunlight and rain water in, there were footboards that would allows us to ease out without stepping on piss.The competition was to pump it up to the highest point against the adjacent wall . Eight people would unzip, stand on the foot boards and the competition begins, testing the wall against their piss power. Kids drank water continuously, disregarded nature’s calls, did everything that made them a winner, winner of the prestigious Piss Prince competition. The competition was a hit, and the whole school knew about it, soon there were inter class competitions.
We stood in the Principals room, Prithvi as usual looking down. The urinal competition case was cracked by one of the teachers, thanks to some rats within us. Prithvi’s mom had come and had to listen through a whole load of shit, the worst part being, the management asking for compensation to re-paint the walls. Money was deposited and we walked out of the room, holding each others hand tight.
From RT to home would take at least two hours, we had to walk down through a road between paddy fields, which was extraordinarily scenic during the day. Walking past the paddy fields, we knew we were passing by the best times in our life. Prithvi would ask, what will we be in ten years and then would reply to it; chuck it at the least we will be friends, good friends. A truck or two would pass by and we would again start singing, villages are good, you have freedom to sing, talk aloud and the cost of privacy is minimal. A Muslim cemetery was nearing and Prithvi was already spicing it up, talking about ghosts and the experiences people had. He would suddenly change his voice and behave as if a ghost had entered him, will duck and walk by and do stuff until I freak myself out. Ghosts, the most discussed topic in a hostel. We would carry new joiners on their coat and leave them at the middle of the garden with their hands tied together. Waiting for the kid to wake up and freak himself was always a tough task. We’d rather pelt a stone at him and enjoy the show, most of them passed out, some fainted.
Prithvi, would talk about his crush on the Malayalam teacher, would describe her out in a way you could come listening to it. He loved her curvy hips and made it a point to sit at the front bench for all her lectures, when she turns around, the glimpse of her belly button through the slit between the shoulder and the waist would take him off. He would grab my arm and pinch me hard. Prithvi would try to get everyone look at her the same way, Ashfaq would not and Prithvi hated those saintly thoughts. Curves on the road, are steeper when we near Devi Talkies, the next spot on the way back. Here is the truckers stop for tea. We drank tea and the shopkeeper would not take money, Prithvi’s father had done some favor the tea would be a sign of gratitude. Hot tea at 3:00 in the morning and we could see, Rekha’s home. A controversial figure in school for being into multiple affairs, at different levels (Even a teacher was said to be humping on her!!!). We commented on the subject, by planting ourselves on the moral police chair and started the walk back.
I always hated Shankar, cause his parents were in the good books of Divya’s parents. The kid was highly rated and they always pursued Divya to be with him. His home was big and stood like a palace in the moon light. Prithvi, never missed a chance, hey your villain might be sleeping inside, might be he is shagging of thinking about your chick !!!!!!. Shankar was nothing more than a girl who wore shorts and a shirt, he would even pee in his pants if teachers asked to do so, with big eye lashes, hairless legs and a plump body, 24 carat gay material. We decided to teach him a lesson, the lights in front of the house crackled, along with one of the windows on the top right. We ran, reached the next Junction in a flash, and took a short cut through a mud road to reach the backside of Ashfaq’s house. The walk back was almost over, two compounds and it was our home and we knew, those six miles would never come back, nor would we have the balls to walk , neither would the world let us try.
We walked past the main Gate, it proudly read, Sadan Central School. An English Medium school is a big deal in any village, our’s was the best in that vicinity. Peeping into the Security room, Prithvi yelled, look we have Sethu Annan sleeping, smells of arrack! I peeped in and saw, our schools protector, sleeping half naked covering himself by the lungi which he wore (Exuberant in color, silky in texture our Lungi’s a infamous). As usual, Prithvi pelted a stone at him and ran, and me taken by shock ran behind him. We reached the main road in a flash, thanks again to Prithvi and the cheeky act. All the friends had left with their parents or had taken refuge in the hostel; we decided to walk back to Prithvi’s home just six kilometers away.
It was a cold November night and we knew, life was going to take a big turn. RT, talkies was playing another adult movie, Prithvi cribbed looking at the poster, I told you, we could have watched this rather than your chick’s Bharthanatyam. Shakeela the porn star was in full swing during late 90’s, posters with her sari dripping down; exposing her Cleavage was a common item in every porn menu. I laughed; Prithvi was an amazing friend, always there to support. Behind the stage, I was supposed to meet, Divya, the slim, thin and the most sorted out girl in school. She would come backstage and I could meet her alone, she wanted to talk.
Backstage meetings are fun, I had to get around the girls dressing room and reach the rendezvous , She had to fool teachers, her friends and most importantly her mother, Mrs. conservative Sita Ammal. The moment I came to know the plan, we had called a meeting, Nisar and Najib, clearly denied me from meeting her, the consequences could extend to a suspension. Ashfaq as usual remained neutral though vouched to support, Prithvi told, “Machan, you have the chance, and you must do it”. Eyes gleaming with enthusiasm he said, nothing would go wrong, He would watch my ass, I got the message.
Walking past the Girls dressing room, I could hear Divya’s sweet voice; she was ready for the dance and was awaiting her turn. I walked fast, Prithvi, way behind, signaling to move forward. I was confident, nothing would go wrong, waiting in the dark, behind the stage, precisely under the bamboos holding the stage, I was waiting for the moment. I could hear the sound of anklets, it was her, she had slid out and came running, I was squatting under the main stage and she ducked and held my hands, taking deep breaths. The deafening sound of our music teacher performing on stage, frogs and insects screeching, pitch dark woods ahead of us sent a chill down my spine, but her hands could make me forget everything. She was nervous, wanted to talk but was gasping, sweat was wiping away the thick cream our make-up man had applied, she smelled of Jasmine. We spoke; it was a four year old love affair, for the first time we met alone. Blood rushed through my veins, she was breathing down my neck and I could smell her sweat, little beads of them falling on my shoulder. I held her tight and she planted a kiss, a juicy, slimy, sweaty one. Under that make shift, stage, November night weather I saw heaven, I kissed her back, first on her forehead, then on her nose and then on the lips. I could taste something sweet, love and lipstick deadly combo!!!!!. My principal, had a voice which easily could be used to break stones, I felt her heart thumping and held her even closer, and then came the announcement asking Divya to come backstage. “Panic” would be an understatement, Sita Ammal was already in and around the ladies toilet, we could hear people searching for Divya. She pushed me and ran towards the water pipe, near the gents toilet on the other side of the stage, I sat there frozen. Prithvi whistled safety and I started my walk back, Divya’s performance on stage started, she had gone around the stage and come in through the main entrance.
Prithvi was pulling my leg, through out until, tears rolled out of my eyes, I loved her more than anything and I felt her that day, the warmth of a woman can get anyone going. Being a motherless child, her love was the only source of compassion. I cried, again, Prithvi had a hand on his forehead and was consoling me, “Da you could still be together, we all will be together no worries”. I hugged him, he felt my pain, I knew he felt it.
Prithvi was an overprotected kid, with a big family and lot of relatives, he could not even piss without being noticed, watching a porn movie in the near by talkies was just a dream, anyways he loved those movies and we watched them secretly. Prithvi, was walking along, singing hits from bollywood movies, music was a passion for him. Sitting in the middle row, all we did was to hum the latest hits, mix them into a desi version or bring out a pattern in these songs. Prithvi would come running at sharp 9:20 and announce “Today its Akshay Kumar hits” and that would mean all day we sang “Chura ke Dil mera”.
I would, look back at the corner seat of the girls row and Divya would be looking at me, our eyes would meet, exchange messages and Prithvi would pinch me when the teacher was about to notice. Being a good student was my birth right and I never did anything more to be one, was never attentive, never studied anything at the hostel but always got the marks. I was a miracle kid, my friends used to love me though their parents had a nightmare, knowing their kids inclusion in my friends list. We walked, in front of our friend’s home, decided to ease out. Prithvi was painting the compound wall with all the names he hated. Easing out, during the first break of the day was a competition; the same kicked off by our gang. The urinal was quite big, with shoulder level cement barricades segregating each other. The tached roof above, would let the sunlight and rain water in, there were footboards that would allows us to ease out without stepping on piss.The competition was to pump it up to the highest point against the adjacent wall . Eight people would unzip, stand on the foot boards and the competition begins, testing the wall against their piss power. Kids drank water continuously, disregarded nature’s calls, did everything that made them a winner, winner of the prestigious Piss Prince competition. The competition was a hit, and the whole school knew about it, soon there were inter class competitions.
We stood in the Principals room, Prithvi as usual looking down. The urinal competition case was cracked by one of the teachers, thanks to some rats within us. Prithvi’s mom had come and had to listen through a whole load of shit, the worst part being, the management asking for compensation to re-paint the walls. Money was deposited and we walked out of the room, holding each others hand tight.
From RT to home would take at least two hours, we had to walk down through a road between paddy fields, which was extraordinarily scenic during the day. Walking past the paddy fields, we knew we were passing by the best times in our life. Prithvi would ask, what will we be in ten years and then would reply to it; chuck it at the least we will be friends, good friends. A truck or two would pass by and we would again start singing, villages are good, you have freedom to sing, talk aloud and the cost of privacy is minimal. A Muslim cemetery was nearing and Prithvi was already spicing it up, talking about ghosts and the experiences people had. He would suddenly change his voice and behave as if a ghost had entered him, will duck and walk by and do stuff until I freak myself out. Ghosts, the most discussed topic in a hostel. We would carry new joiners on their coat and leave them at the middle of the garden with their hands tied together. Waiting for the kid to wake up and freak himself was always a tough task. We’d rather pelt a stone at him and enjoy the show, most of them passed out, some fainted.
Prithvi, would talk about his crush on the Malayalam teacher, would describe her out in a way you could come listening to it. He loved her curvy hips and made it a point to sit at the front bench for all her lectures, when she turns around, the glimpse of her belly button through the slit between the shoulder and the waist would take him off. He would grab my arm and pinch me hard. Prithvi would try to get everyone look at her the same way, Ashfaq would not and Prithvi hated those saintly thoughts. Curves on the road, are steeper when we near Devi Talkies, the next spot on the way back. Here is the truckers stop for tea. We drank tea and the shopkeeper would not take money, Prithvi’s father had done some favor the tea would be a sign of gratitude. Hot tea at 3:00 in the morning and we could see, Rekha’s home. A controversial figure in school for being into multiple affairs, at different levels (Even a teacher was said to be humping on her!!!). We commented on the subject, by planting ourselves on the moral police chair and started the walk back.
I always hated Shankar, cause his parents were in the good books of Divya’s parents. The kid was highly rated and they always pursued Divya to be with him. His home was big and stood like a palace in the moon light. Prithvi, never missed a chance, hey your villain might be sleeping inside, might be he is shagging of thinking about your chick !!!!!!. Shankar was nothing more than a girl who wore shorts and a shirt, he would even pee in his pants if teachers asked to do so, with big eye lashes, hairless legs and a plump body, 24 carat gay material. We decided to teach him a lesson, the lights in front of the house crackled, along with one of the windows on the top right. We ran, reached the next Junction in a flash, and took a short cut through a mud road to reach the backside of Ashfaq’s house. The walk back was almost over, two compounds and it was our home and we knew, those six miles would never come back, nor would we have the balls to walk , neither would the world let us try.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
About Love and Liberty !!!!!!
Do you actually need to love someone to understand him? To understand and to love are entirely different concepts all together. Why is it that even the most near and dear fail to touch your heart, why is it that they flunk at moments of life when you actually would expect them to lift you up. Why is that you fail to understand the emotions of a parent when you bring a stranger home and introduce her as your wife. Why is it that the girl who you love the most rings you up on the eve of your sisters wedding, and tells you that that she is so happy that the obstacles are now over. Why is it that we always forget to listen to what we say, getting into the shoes of the listener, Do we ever realize that the happiness we share would hurt the guy at the receiving end.
Love is not just an emotion in this part of the world; it has conditions, ifs and buts attached to it. It makes you compromise more than liberate, it chains you harder and pulls you away from the castles that you would have built. To understand someone is a big deal, for that you have to break the shackles of love, like breaking the ice to see the churning beneath. Love might not give you the see through picture, It would mask the real he, It would make you draw pictures of the person based on your wants and needs. Painting him as a 9:00 to 6:00 husband is what love does and helping him to do more at work is what understanding would do. But then the million dollar Question is, does love actually liberate????.
No, it does not, but then love with intelligent compromises does. Cooking twice a week and cleaning the house when she is busy at work must definitely help. An onsite opportunity for her must not be put down, because you do not have anyone to cook. A maid or hotels could solve the issue. The Indian concept makes it clear that marriage is about being together, weather you like it or not. Being together helps but does it always, let’s do retrospection. Who would not love to have sometime for themselves, everyone must get a breath of fresh air, do not take me wrong, and it’s not about screwing a Lebanese chick on Coke. It’s about time to pamper you, the most important thing we keep on neglecting. I could see nerds around me, who crib about being in bondage when they are alone, and be proud about a family life when thrown light at them. One thing about the system is that it teaches you to compromise, on marriage because your sister thought so, on promotions cause your manager felt that it’s not time yet, getting your ear pierced cause the crowd might take it wrong. Why can’t we break the shackles and live, live a life than survive. I feel, Sri Sri Ravisankar must talk about the art of Survival and then map it to the art of living.
We have bent our backs, in front of the whites who screwed us for hundreds of years, in front of countless governments who played around with our money, we have compromised our choices and preferences as NRI’s to bring money back to our land, We picked up safe careers, never bothered to tried instincts of Photography or Journalism, Is that enough of sacrifice, the ultimate aim of life is joy, pursue it at any means and cost and god will be there with you, he does not have a choice. God knows the truth , but waits.
Love is not just an emotion in this part of the world; it has conditions, ifs and buts attached to it. It makes you compromise more than liberate, it chains you harder and pulls you away from the castles that you would have built. To understand someone is a big deal, for that you have to break the shackles of love, like breaking the ice to see the churning beneath. Love might not give you the see through picture, It would mask the real he, It would make you draw pictures of the person based on your wants and needs. Painting him as a 9:00 to 6:00 husband is what love does and helping him to do more at work is what understanding would do. But then the million dollar Question is, does love actually liberate????.
No, it does not, but then love with intelligent compromises does. Cooking twice a week and cleaning the house when she is busy at work must definitely help. An onsite opportunity for her must not be put down, because you do not have anyone to cook. A maid or hotels could solve the issue. The Indian concept makes it clear that marriage is about being together, weather you like it or not. Being together helps but does it always, let’s do retrospection. Who would not love to have sometime for themselves, everyone must get a breath of fresh air, do not take me wrong, and it’s not about screwing a Lebanese chick on Coke. It’s about time to pamper you, the most important thing we keep on neglecting. I could see nerds around me, who crib about being in bondage when they are alone, and be proud about a family life when thrown light at them. One thing about the system is that it teaches you to compromise, on marriage because your sister thought so, on promotions cause your manager felt that it’s not time yet, getting your ear pierced cause the crowd might take it wrong. Why can’t we break the shackles and live, live a life than survive. I feel, Sri Sri Ravisankar must talk about the art of Survival and then map it to the art of living.
We have bent our backs, in front of the whites who screwed us for hundreds of years, in front of countless governments who played around with our money, we have compromised our choices and preferences as NRI’s to bring money back to our land, We picked up safe careers, never bothered to tried instincts of Photography or Journalism, Is that enough of sacrifice, the ultimate aim of life is joy, pursue it at any means and cost and god will be there with you, he does not have a choice. God knows the truth , but waits.
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