Miracle!

It was a daily ritual that began with the first ray of light that falls on the snow caps of Kanchenjunga and streaked into his room. He never needed an alarm clock to wake him, that streak woke him each morning ever since he got posted in Sikkim. For a young man with a lot to do in the cities, Sikkim was a quite place with very little activity. It had been a year since he had been living in Gyalshing. Indian Army has a strong presence in Sikkim and people are used to seeing them all over the place. People are friendly and have a strict way of life. Living on high altitudes is not easy. The first couple of months of his stay drove him crazy. He wished he didn't wake up early so he would have lesser hours to kill but that streak of light was trecherous. One evening he fumbled upon this book about Houdini at a local shop. It was funny how he found it. He had bought something to eat at a local tea stall and a little kid packed his snack in a piece of paper. As he was eating out of that piece of paper, his eyes fell on the oil stained words. By the time he was done eating, he was intrigued. He called that little guy and asked him where he got that paper from. The kid brought out a half torn book. Almost half of the pages were gone. But he wanted it. The little kid at the tea stall was amused to see the fauji (Hindi for 'Soldier') going crazy over a tattered, not-even-a-book. Houdini lead him into the fascinating world of magic.

He learned some basic card tricks and tried them on the village kids. He enjoyed the look on hand cupped faces. In the village where he moved around like a zombie to the locals, the mutually exclusive co-existence was melting into recognizing looks and friendly smiles. He was the jaadugar fauji (magician soldier). One day the little kid from tea stall saw him showing his card tricks to the kids in the village. He saw him with great interest and watched closely. As all the children were thrilled after the show, the boy from the tea stall just walked away all with a quizzical expression. Next morning as he was getting dressed for work, he heard a knock on the door. It was the little boy!

He had a pack of cards in his hands. He kept his kettle down and placed the cards on the table. And one by one he showed all his tricks back to him with the most smug smile you can find on a child's face. All his tricks came down like a pack of cards. The boy gave him some tea and went away.

For a week the jaadugar fauji was not to be seen in the village. The kids were getting edgy. After a week the jaadugar emerged with new tricks. Better than the cards. The kids were delirious but he was waiting for the little boy to see him this time. The boy came again and watched him intently. The following morning, jaadugar kept waiting for the knock on the door, but no one came. He had a funny sense of triumph, as he set out for the day.

However, it didn't last long. The boy came next morning and like last time the tricks were all exposed. This turned into a routine. Every week fauji came up with something new and the boy saw through it. The competition turned into a friendship. The fauji was intrigued that, for a boy his age, he somehow wasn't fascinated by the magic tricks. When all the other kids in the village eyes looked at him reveringly as if he had miraculous powers, for this boy these were all tricks. How did he know the difference?

One evening the fauji was out on a night reconnaissance. This wasn't a dangerous area, but it was a routine recce. The worst one would expect was poachers in the jungle, but no one usually wanted to go near a military vehicle. He did his usual round and was returning to the base when he heard a gun shot. There were definitely poachers around. He stopped in a clearing and asked the driver to turn off the lights. They heard a vehicle coming closer, but couldn't see anything through his night vision device. Suddenly, the oncoming vehicle stopped and he heard another gun shot and in about a few seconds, he felt some cold liquid running from his right ear down his neck. As the pain surged he realized he was shot in the ear. The driver quickly drove him to the base and he was flown out to the closest military hospital after a tincture iodine dressing (which is not nice!). The whole village knew that the jaadugar fauji was shot.

He came back after a week to the base and still didn't start going out in the village yet. One morning after he got back, there was the knock on the door in the morning. He knew who it would be. He opened the door and the little boy walked in. He saw on his face what he had always wanted to see, the astonishment! He thought, so this is what it took. He spoke to the boy for the first time, "are you looking at that hole in my ear? it looks funny isn't it? Don't worry, it doesn't hurt anymore. I am fine." and smiled.

The boy looked at him and said, "they told me someone shot you in the dark. Do you see where you were hit? Just one inch on your left and you wouldn't have been standing here right now! Its a miracle!

Its still a ritual, the way his day begins. But when he looks out at that glistening snow capped peak of Kanchenjunga, he sees the miracle!

Love you and Miss you!

This was written in spring, but never posted...

Its spring time and there is pollen all around. If you come back home after a short walk outside, you could dust off loads and loads of green stuff from your clothes. Thankfully this lasts only for a month or two in a year. But its spring time for 'Love you's and 'Miss you's all year round. You could dust off as much as you want, but you'll be showered with tons more.

If you're staying away from your social circle, be prepared for astronomical proportions of this stuff. And maybe its the 'in-thing' in India, just like there are other million things that people say when they open or close a conversation, that have absolutely no sincerity. Incidentally, its the female species who is infected by this phenomena severely, although you would see an occasional male mouthing these frivolities too! The quintessential aunt, the cheesy girl friend, the long lost school friend, the college-mate who you never spoke to in college, an ex-colleague who you knew, hated you from the gut! All these are the primary carriers of the pollen.

But sit down and think about how many times your mom or dad said, "I love you my child and I miss you. Although, I am immensely proud to see you doing so well wherever you go, but there is not a moment when I wish you were here by my side." They never have to say it and you do your best to prevent them having to say it aloud. Or think about how many times your closest friend says to you, "I miss you because every time there is something I have to tell you, I hold it inside me is because I don't want to bother you, since you are far away!"

Sometimes, there are things you rather not say. But yesterday a dear friend of mine messaged and said, "hey there, whats up! Study hard and get those exams out of your way. Btw heard your favorite song on the radio and remembered you. Missed you! :("

How was this different from the green dust? I have no answer, but I thank god that I have learnt to differentiate now!

Cheer Up - Yourself and Everyone!

Frankly, this was going to come a little later, probably when the story would actually have come full circle, but I couldn't hold it any longer. Now, if you poke a kid with a secret in his chest a couple of times, the tight lips curve into a smile. One more poke, and the story spills, complete with the colorful sparklers in the eyes, making it quite a show!

It was a winter noon when I was supposed to go for a job interview. Usually, I am quite in control before I go for one... I can see some eyebrows going up, saying, "oh yeah, so you are saying you are never nervous before one? you are so good huh?"... No, I am nervous, but not to a point where I am smelling like a rotten onion, before I reach the office! Lets put it this way, I believe, there is a job requirement, and there is a skill set I possess, and what an interview is, is just a way to find a match. Its not a judgement on me. Don't worry, I wasn't this smart since I was born. I did mull over this one interview, where I blew it up on a very simple question. I realized what a blunder it was, by the time I was in the parking lot. And I had this huge urge to go back up and tell the guy, "don't give me the job, but don't judge me on that stupid answer". Finally one day I killed the beast and said to myself, "Women, you didn't do it right that day, and thats all that is to it." Since then I was liberated from the fret fits.

But this interview was different. It came after a year long sabbatical for various reasons and studies. It came from one of the most coveted organizations in my line. It came in a market swarmed with unemployed/ underemployed high skilled, local competitors. And not only did they have to like me, they had to like me enough to take the trouble to do some visa related paperwork.

This really was the first time I was meeting an employer, otherwise I was at the mercy of recruiters of all shapes and sizes. Who weren't sure if I would be able to bean-count in America, since I was bean-counting in India all this while. Once a recruiter asked me, "so you have a Chartered Accountancy certificate, but do you have a Bachelors in Accounting? Because this client is specifically looking for someone who has acquired at least a Bachelor's degree in Accounting." There were some who even took an unannounced written test (2 hours of it, by the way), they were stumped by the results. Had to be, they gave me an exam on basic accounting and I have been doing this for past 8yrs of my life. So now I was a classic case of Catch 22. I couldn't get an entry level job because I was overqualified and I couldn't get a job matching my capabilities because I hadn't worked in America previously. Calls after calls, mails after mails, all I was getting good at, was guessing the reason for a 'No' for a particular application.

Having gone through this frustrating ordeal for a long time, this really was that one opportunity I had to grab. A perfect recruiter, a perfect job, a perfect profile, the impossibility of getting another opportunity like this, my desperation to grab it; in all, it was a perfect recipe for a mess-up. And like a cherry on the top, I was well aware of this too.

Anyways, I call for the cab. Dressed in a dapper suit (cringing inside, at the bomb I had to shell out on it), an overcoat on top, fully loaded I get into the cab.

"So where are we going today miss?" asked the cab driver, in his cheerful Jamaican accent.

"Asylum Street, Downtown" I replied. (Thats just the name of that street, I haven't hit the asylum yet)

"So you have a job where you can work from home and go to office anytime of the day?" He asked.

"Oh no, I am not in that kind of luck. In fact, I am going for an interview. Wish me luck!" I said, smiling back at him; and that was just the cue he needed.

"There is no way you are not getting that job lady. Just give them that beautiful smile that you gave me when you got into the cab, there is no way they won't hire you." Suddenly, I took a liking to this old gentlemen, the stereotypical, jovial, Jamaican.

"So what profession are you into?"

"I am an accountant."

"So you have to get some certification to work as an accountant right?"

"Yes, I have my certification from India."

"An accountant, and that too from India, thats impressive. You shouldn't worry then, you have what it takes." Now a lot of it was coming out of the fact that I was a "female", and I should be taking it with a pinch of salt, but honestly, it was irresistibly pleasant on the ears.

"I hope they think like you too." I added.

"Well, let me tell you something miss. The good old English education (referring to the Brit influence here) keeps us in good stead. We people have strong fundamentals, and these guys know it. They have the technology, they have the presentation, which is all very nice. But that cannot overshadow fundamentals. And as long as you are confident that you know your subject matter, there is no reason why you should be nervous." I was all ears!

"The problem is, our guys know everything, but they cannot talk. And out here, even if they don't know anything, they talk. All their parents teach them right from childhood is talk talk talk. Whereas, our parents told us to shut up. Speak only when its necessary, or only when you know something. Don't make a fool of yourself. Our parents messed up with us big time. But when we get talking, these guys understand that we are good. So remember, whatever you do, don't stop talking."

Just as he finished his 2 minutes speech, we arrived at the office. He had unknowingly or knowingly, given me just the thing I needed, motivation. I couldn't find the right words to say to him then, so I paid him, exchanged courtesies and smiled. And he said, "See! Thats what I am talking about. You've got it, I am telling ya."

The person who walked into that office at that moment was not me. It was someone, who could only think of what skills she had, what all she could bring to the table that day and who was a compulsive smiler. The two penny suit was worthless in front of the person wearing it.

And its a cliche that all inspirational stories have a happy ending. But cliches are cliches because there is a reason why they are overused.

When I got the offer, I was telling my dad about this little incident and how I wished I could call this gentleman to tell him, how he touched my life that day. And my dad said, keep your eyes open, maybe you'll bump into him some other day, but more importantly, be nice to people. You can never even imagine, which deed of yours touches someone in which walk of life.

I know the Paulo Coelho fans would jump and say, when you want something, the whole universe conspires in helping you to achieve it. Its a good thought, but for every success, there are hundreds of failed attempts. And I don't want to say, stay motivated all the time. I think thats not possible. Those failures are as much a reality as the successes. But be hopeful, for yourself and for everyone. Hope will find you your motivation when the time comes. Each moment is different, each attempt is different. Just like every match/ game is different. If every team walked in to the ground with just their stats, there won't be anyone cheering the bottom rungs. There won't be those magical moments when the underdogs win and the ones when deadbeat teams win their first trophy in their history.

And most importantly, keep smiling! :) This one works like a beauty!

PS: Now the deal is, I have an offer, but they are completing the paper work, background checks and the HR blah blahs. If everything goes smoothly, my new year will start with a bang. Even if it doesn't, it won't break my heart 'coz then its not my doing. I meant to post it in Jan, but then- What the heck? :P :P But yeah save the congratulations!

Faith & Belief

6.30 am on a lazy day, way before any youngster opens his/her eyes to the day, and maybe is in the prime of his/her favourite dream, Ruhi's phone rings!! "DAMN this phone... but I didn't put it on alarm...who is it now?"

"Hey Ruha, I am off to my exam, wish me luck!" - This cheeky moron is me, and its a real life story. No fiction today!

"You idiot, I wished you last night, you are such a pest... (other expletives cannot be written on this forum!)

Ruhaa, has been my lucky charm for about 7-8 years now. She is one of the major reasons why I have passed the numerous cumbersome exams that I have. There are indeed some papers where I have not studied enough (...something like, things that require 2 months of dedicated studies, I have just about done something in 10 days), and I have managed to pass such papers too, thanks to my lucky charm. The most difficult exams, have turned out to be easy, some gruelling interviews have been a cake walk, and many more. And like you give a present to your God, when some task is accomplished, I give her presents too whenever I accomplish something. I am that serious about it!

Maybe, this is what the seers tell you about. And since everyone cannot have a Ruhaa, there is God. When you really believe its gonna work, it just works. Sometimes I even know its crazy, the way I am superstitious about this, but trust me, even then it works. Not to say Ruhaa is God for me, but maybe thats where my Faith is, and once I've assured myself, however illogically, that this can be done, it gets done.

Maybe all the knowledgable ones wanted people to benefit from this faith within and conjured up 'God' who can do anything. But why would God do something for you in particular out of a zillion people? So then you do something special, and what that special is... is some special ritual, or a chant or offer. To me it looks like a series of lies to cover up one small lie. And the lie is that there is 'One God' catering to everyone. Well maybe for once, one can even believe it, given the amount of mess there is in the world and it could only go so wrong because there is only one person on the helpline.

But I think you have to find your Faith yourself and see what works for you. Its more about something inside you, rather than elsewhere.

I am someone who in common parlance would be called an atheist. I don't like to follow a religious calendar to pray. In fact, when someone asks me to pray because its an 'xyz' occassion, I hate it. Its this childish resistance, that when someone asks you to do something, you don't like it. Its the most excrutiating thing to stand infront of god, when deep down you know that here you have to put up your best behaviour, and instead of that you are getting irked because you don't believe. Lack of belief, not in God, but these rituals!

I am quite a believer in fact; in God (if thats the favoured name), in a cosmic power and a hidden power within. But rituals, I abhore. I like to go to a temple when I feel like. I like to have that 'me time' within the sanctuaries of that divine power. There is no better place to channelize your senses than a temple, church, mosque or a gurudwara. There are days, when you do land up in a sacred place serendipitously, and thats when I feel God wanted to see me, I feel elated about it. That to me is the true connection to him. Someone once said to me, always compare God to your parents. The relationship between him and you is for you to decide. My mom hasn't defined any days, and manners in which I can hug her, or even words that I am supposed to say to her. But, there are days when I borrow more ornate words from a card, which truly reflect what I want to say to her, or sometimes I say 'I love you', or sometimes, I don't want to say anything. But thats between us, its on no calendar. Treating God like that makes sense to me, rather than praying in a particular order, muttering some chants without understanding them, and with the a fear that if you don't do it right, it will make him unhappy. Isn't it dichotomous to credit such shallowness to someone, who you pray to because of his magnanimity?

Why this sermon? Well I am expected to pray, in a certain way, for some odd day marked on the almanac! But this is definitely not to hurt those who follow rituals, maybe thats where they have parked their faith! Just don't stone me because I can't place my faith there!

What would you choose?

'Life' for one is a very tricky word. You can use it to describe your routine, or your general state of being, your surroundings. It may also encompass a lot of things which you don't think of, off-the-cuff, your passion for something or maybe your utter abhorence of something. Different people have different lives. You and me are no one to judge whose life is more meaningful and whose is not.

Life they say is the most precious gift given to you and everyone who has one. Isn't this what was taught to us when we were young?


Tired after a long day of office and classes, we CA students would just crash land into our homes. For Ruhi it was one extra lap. She had to wade through an insane stream of traffic for an hour and a half till she could call it a day. Monsoons in Pune are beautiful but only on the days you aren't working. We two-wheeler mounted rangers almost had to carry a change of clothes or a sturdy raincoat to spend 3-4 hours of a day riding on the roads. It was quite a crazy life, running between college, classes, office, clients, classes again and then home, each and everyday.


One night I recieved a call from her. She still hadn't reached home. Classes were over at 8 pm.


"Deeps! Where are you?"


"I am home, why what happened? Where are you?"


I am in Poona Hospital.


"You what?! What are you doing there? And how did you reach there? Its not on your way home?"


Hey I am alright. But can you come down? I've called home and told them I am stuck in extra classes.


"Yep! I'll be there in half an hour."


I couldn't make sense out of it at all. I grabbed my raincoat and just rushed. It was 9 in the night, the girl hadn't reached home and she was completely in the opposite direction from her way home. Mom was alone at home so at first I thought, I'll take her with me, but then I just didn't know what was it about, so I just told her some story and went. Pune roads are somewhat safe till about 11 pm in the night and I wasn't hoping to stay beyond that anyways.


I reached in about 30 minutes and entered the hospital with a pounding heart. I looked around and there she was. All wet, unruly hair, she was wearing her denim jacket but her kurta was soaked in blood. This was crazier than I expected, I made a dash at her.


"What the hell happened? Whats all this?" My mind stopped working.


She had stopped at a corner shop to get some notes photo-copied. This guy was on his bicycle. Another guy came recklessly from a connecting bylane, braked at the junction, and since the roads were wet, he lost control and rammed into him. The man on the bicycle was thrown off his ride, his head hit the pavement and he fell unconcious. Everyone rushed to the scene. The biker stood up limping. In no time, a crowd had encircled these two. Ruhi also ran towards the scene. The biker tried to start his bike and go. A couple of people held him, slapped him, but he somehow managed to get his bike started and sped off.


The bystanders stood around the unconcious fellow, but no one was ready to pick him up. For a few minutes, Ruhi thought someone will go ahead, but no one did. What are these guys waiting for? She heard some murmurs of 'a police-case', 'he is not going to survive', 'hassles' and no one was ready to come forward.


She decided to take this man to a hospital. She asked an autorickshaw driver to help her. He was ready to help on the condition that he would not enter the hospital door with her. They both put him in the rickshaw, someone accompanied him to hold the guy in the back seat and brought him to this hospital.


He had lost a lot of blood and it was a head injury. The hospital staff had already called the police. The doctor came by and looked at me. He had asked Ruhi to call someone from her family and he was not very amused to see me, I could see. He turned to me, "Listen you girls, this is going to be a police-case. The cops will come any time and your friend will be listed as a witness. Its going to be a big hassle which a respectable girl should not get into. Police stations aren't a place for a respectable girl. I wanted someone from her family to come and take her away. We can take care of this guy and register a complaint with the police." Sounded like a sensible thing to me and I turned to Ruhi.


I am not going home till I've report the bike number of the guy who did it.


"What?" "There is no need, its none of our business."

Then it wasn't my business to bring him here either.

"Its not as simple as you think. You will have to give a statement to the police and then maybe even go to the court to testify. This can go on for years, you know how court cases work in India."


So whats the big deal? Firstly, I am not the one who has hit him so there is nothing for me to fear the police. Secondly, all I want is to bring that *AH* to books, who thinks who can leave a man dying on the road and get away with it. A couple or 100 rounds of testifying maybe, versus, this guy's life! Whats heavier on your scale?

You have saved his life already, now you don't have to screw yours over it. You don't even know what kind of a guy that biker is. 8 of 10 chances are he is some messed up guy. I mean, who rides a bike recklessly in a crazy weather and then runs away leaving this guy on the road. He can be dangerous. Better still, he'll just bribe some people and get away.


I am not fantasizing about the fact that my testimony will put him behind bars. But I am more than convinced that this guy has to be identified and he should be ashamed of what he has done.


I think you are getting carried away with a surge of emotions right now. Its not as simple as you think. Lets go home.


Listen! If I was dying on the road like this man, I would be hoping with even the tiny wisp of life left in me that someone rescues me. And moreover, if there is a guy who did not care about another human life for the love of his maniacal bike rides, he needs to be checked.


You have brought him here and helped him enough. Do you think the man you brought here, would take the trouble to do all this for you, if he found you lying bleeding on the road?


I don't know! But what I do know is, if I stand up for him today, he would from now on! Let me see how much trouble I can get in, for helping an accident victim legally. Even I could have brought him here, thrown him at the door and gone away. But then I would be no different than those who were scared to bring him here, so much so, that they would rather let him die.

-------------------------------------

This one comes out of a heated discussion on the back benches of my 11th std classroom, on a leisurely afternoon. I was quite idealistic in my school days and I was the one who was on the Ruhi-side-of-the-debate. Strangely, I was the only one who thought that way. And like a recurring dream, I play this over and over again in my head, as to what would I do and how far would I go to help. I still have no clue what trouble I could get in.

It was 12 yrs ago. I thought maybe growing up and pragmatism would change me for the better, but unfortunately I still don't see why I should be scared of helping a dying man on the street for the fear of something as lame as legal hassles, hospital hassles and police cases.


Maybe, it was indeed that complicated to take an accident victim to hospital 12 yrs ago, and hopefully there is a little more awareness in people today and hopefully it would only get better from here. But the worth of a human life has been and will be the same, always.

Even a herd of animals running from a predator, do make an effort to save that one member who gets caught. Given that becoming a beast's meal is quite an ordinary form of death for them, they shouldn't really bother. But they still put up a fight for that one team mate.

Maybe I am just romantacizing here but... shouldn't our struggle to fight or withstand the system, be more rigourous, instead of choosing to ditch life?

The Don Quixote!

"Madam! I want a leave tommorrow!"



"Why, what happened?


"My friend is getting married. He and his girlfriend have eloped, and I am helping them out."


Babu was this character I came across while working in this small time business after college. He was our office boy, cum receptionist, cum delivery boy, cum office administrator, cum cleaner and much more. It usually never happened that you told him something and it didn't happen. However, like a chinese gadget he could ditch you at some crucial moments every now and then. But then the novelty of services that you get for the price at which it comes, you overlook the reliablity quotient of your chinese gadget.


In first few days itself I saw he was running the whole office administration in his own way. The coffee machine vendor, the EPBX maintenance, the AC maintenance guys, everyone was in his pocket. The cash strapped, near-its-death organization that I was working for, had not paid vendors for 6-7 months and still these guys came and worked. All thanks to Babu. You would think he must be this real street smart guy, glib with words but sorry to dissappoint you. Maybe people just couldn't say 'no' to him.


Our Babu was this lanky guy, with a freestyle moustache covering the upper lip. A strong smelling oil was put on the task of keeping the thick wavy hair in place, but the oils gave up by evening. He wore his office uniform which his mom washed daily with oodles of soap I guess, 'coz an unsuspecting guy would assume he was using Rin (Detergent cake in India) as deodorant. There was a tattered polythene bag he carried everyday, everywhere and protected as if it was his life's saving. He claimed that he had passed 12th grade. We never bothered to verify this claim, because if he had, those teachers need to face a firing squad. He was about 20-21 years of age I guess. His Hindi, was picked up right from the stevedores of the bombay port. He couldn't speak English for nuts but whenever he was jobless you would find him sitting with the english newspaper trying to put sense into the faintly familiar alphabets from his schooldays. Ocassionally you would hear him flaunt some English words over the phone, caring two hoots for the muffled giggles that followed after that.

Out of his many quirks, talking and walking in english were his pet dreams!

"Madam, there are only three nose remaining of this case of bottles." This was the first time he knocked me out with his english.

"Three nose??????"


"Yes Madam, three nose"


"Whats nose? Kya bol rahe ho Babu?"


"Arre Madam, aapko nahi maaloom kya, woh inventory ki list pe likha hota hai na 'nose'" (He almost ridiculed my ignorance about this nose on the inventory list)


"Kidhar likha hai dikhao?' (I asked him to show it to me)


Babu came with the list and I saw units in "Nos." Goddammit, whoever came up with that notation for writing 'numbers' as 'Nos.

Once in a while he would even sit infront of a computer, trying to figure out what the fuss was all about. He never touched the keyboard nor the mouse, just stared blankly into it, as if sitting there will make him a computer pro one day, just like that.

He liked bike rides too. One random day, I happened to give him a pillion ride on my scooty too. He was going out for some errand close to the place where I was going so he asked me to take him. He came along mumbling what he had to do, down the stairs...I started my scooty...he took two minutes ...and hopped on. Somewhere in the middle of the journey I caught a glimpse of him in the rear view. Babu was wearing these black goggles with a THICK GOLDEN frame and looking all around as if he was the prince of Persia. I twisted the life out of the throttle and drove at neck breaking speed to reach my destination, lest someone catches me with this specimen on my scooty, in my hometown. I cursed myself for not wearing the helmet that one time. When we reached back, he took off his goggles and put them back where they belonged- his treasured tattered polythene bag.

He asked me to help him with learning English, which I unhesitatingly accepted. Thats when I realized, the easiest way to lose your face as a teacher is to start teaching english. Why is 'tion' pronounced as 'shun'? Why is 'gone', gawSSSn and 'tone', tone and 'done', dun? I never give up on my student when I am teaching. But I have to say this time, he didn't give up on me; even if I sounded absolutely absurd. There was an occassional 'are you sure?' from him, to which I said, 'thats the way they taught me', trying to retrieve as much lost credibility as possible, blaming it on others.

Anyways, coming back to his leave! I was still sizing up whether he was cooking up some story for leave or was he serious.


Thier parents don't agree because the girl has just completed her graduation and my friend has not passed 5th standard even. They have come here from the village and I have to look for a job for him too. Why do parents have to create such a ruckus when two people want to get married and are happy with each other?


No matter how hopelessly romantic I get, I can't imagine nor understand why an educated girl would fall in love with a guy who does nothing, who isn't educated and is not going to grow up with age any further, and how long will that love last. So I tried to make some wise remarks on practicality and the realities of life. But having already lost my credibility thanks to the asinine rules of English language, he gave this back to me...


"Madam, just because my friend cannot read or write doesn't make his love less worthy. I understand that to fend for themselves here in the city without an education is difficult but its not impossible. They truly love each other, and love overcomes everything."


Of course it was mindless and had no remotest affinity to commonsense, but something in those fanstasizing eyes just broke my heart. I should have told him, "Babu, realities of life are far more different than what you seem to have figured out. All these dialogues on love look good only in a bollywood masala flick, not in your friends' life." But I somehow the words didn't come out.


Here was Babu living in this dream world of his, right in the middle of the chaos and madness called 'The Reality'. He may get lucky and meander along his entire life happily in his eternal dream, maybe this Don Quixote will find a Sancho Panza too. I guess Cervantes got philosophical and wrote Quixote because of this same wierd heartbreaking feeling one gets after seeing someone so lost in his own world, that its impossible to bring him out.


I did come across a couple of other Babus like him afterwards. Fool's Paradise is quite a crowded place. There are occassional vacationers too. I am intrigued as to how do they remain so untouched in the humdrum around them. Every now and then I even wonder, who is unfortunate, they- who can't see or us- who can?

To The Pen Weilders!

There is a secret society of writers from all over the world and that's 'Blogosphere'. And I have to admit, on some unsuspecting afternoon I get lost in that world, hopping from one page to the other, from one story to another. Sometimes enchanted, sometimes amused or intrigued or baffled by their beautiful thoughts, imagination, humour, intellect or simply perception! And then a thought struck me, what is a writer's reward? For a musician or a dancer, its the enchanted and enraptured audience; for an actor its that five-seconds of stillness before the auditorium starts roaring with applause; for a magician the baffled look of his spectators. But whats in it for a writer? This about the millions of small stars in the milky way, who are not the Siriuses, the Canopuses or the Rigels but they do have light, however tiny it may be.

Pondering for a few days over this, I bumped upon someone in the attic of my mind. I wiped off the dust from that box of memories. And wondered how long it has been (almost 10 years) and how I had completely forgotten about this someone!

Disclaimer: This can be longer than you expect.

Ravi Rajeev is this guy. And he used to write a column called 'Good Morning Pune'. He wrote an article every alternate day about anything under the sun. It was published on the 3rd page of the local supplement, not a very big deal really.

The newspapers had just begun to show first signs of aging. Only a few nerds like me, went beyond the current affairs and looked at the editorials and side supplements. (Actually I like the editorials more than the news). It was a thing of wonder as to what it is like to write on a daily feature of a local newspaper. Won't someone die of curiosity as to how was the article received? Did it hurt, if you saw someone eating bhel-puri on a parchment with your own article on it? Would you crane your neck in a public place watching people read a paper, and cringe if they pass over your page? You write everyday for a newspaper for heaven's sake, but you are still no celebrity. You don't even know if people like you or hate you; or even worse, don't know if you exist as a speck in this universe. But surely, there is some powerful urge inside to go on writing every other day for all those who read. Nothing like today where people just come on your article online and thwart you mercilessly or leave a gracious compliment then and there.

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"....Forgiveness, my scriptures tell me, is a virtue of the strong. Be it. Maybe I am not strong, that I can't forgive and forget easily. Never on earth did forgiving someone give me the satisfaction of being strong..... I wanted a tooth for a tooth, a nail for a nail and that was strength for me. To be able impart justice was strength to me........... But today I have been forgiven by someone, and I know how devastated I would have been, if I wasn't."

That last line hit home like a strong sudden gush of wind that blew off the closed window of my reverie! I wondered, did that hit just me or there are others who perceived it the way I did?

"....this kid says to me, "Dada whats the big deal about an interesting job? Its all about money. Of all the kids that do an MBA, how many of them understand its importance? Its like a Bachelor's degree now, you just have to have it. Whatever job I get, I will eventually develop an interest in it to survive. And now a days everyone cribs about what they do and their bosses anyways, so what difference does it make?" ..........I am wondering, if I am a fool to write here just for the love of writing? ....................Something is not right some where. Its about time that kids get out of this rat race. Unfortunately, its a self created trap and I feel its ruining the spirit of our children................. What a pitiful generation it would be who doesn't understand the word 'Motivation'."

It sure was a scary thought. After this one, every time I have to make a choice, I ask myself, how long can I go on doing this for no reward? Decisions became less regretted upon, since then.

"......when saying good-byes, the pain of separation drives us to doing two things- allow ourselves to feel the pain and respond accordingly; or shut out the pain and simply say 'OK! bye then'. You would notice that, you wouldn't want to do the latter unless you want to make the person feel as important as last night's dinner, but surprisingly, majority of people choose the feeble second option! If there is a sense of finality its even more difficult; though people who believe in rebirth can always says, 'See you in Barista, after 80 yrs'........ You always want to say something profound, but more often than not it sounds stupid.........................I'll never forget you? You will live forever in my heart? This is just so-long and not farewell? .............All I know is before the person parts, you have to let that person know how much he/she mattered to you! And if there is an antithesis to the phrase 'better said than done', its the last good bye.

In a lighter vein, it said a lot. My reaction to this article was just a smile back then. I had forgotten all about this article but when I have dug it out of the archives at this point in life, its even more resounding.

"The ganpati immersion in Pune is a adrenaline junkie's delight...... Just for an experiment go into the city and listen to the drums.....slowly you'll feel yourself drawn into the beats, like a swimmer caught in the undercurrent of a giant wave.....you will see yourself moving to the waves of the crescendo and slowly the beats are not outside, they are within you..... the more I see it around me, the more I am convinced that the cosmic mystery of being is encapsulated in Rhythm & Music..... The heart, the breath, everything beats in a rhythmic tune.......the only thing that travels unquestioned between Indian and Pakistani borders is music..... Napolean said, "let me write an anthem for a nation and I will decide its morality"...... As a saint said, "A man who sings, prays twice."

I could never agree more! And yes, you have to witness a ganpati procession to truly experience the magic. There are waves of drummers beating their dhols in unison. There are young girls in white kurtas and turbans in the band too. Its sheer adrenaline.

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There were many more of these kinds and each time they made impressions. Of course, even my own age was impressionable that time. Every feeling, every emotion, every reaction is amplified when you are crossing over to the 20s. The only quality thats required in an idea to attract you is 'Novelty'.

Years later, one evening sitting in this typical youngsters' hangout called Toons, I walked over to the bar to get another drink. A gal and a guy on the stools got into an animated conversation. The guy said, "yeah used to write part time, just for fun."

"Cuhmon!! writing in TOI is not small time writing! What did you write, were you a reporter?"

"Nothing much, I wrote a daily column in Pune Times, no big deal."

"Really! Whats your name again? Lemme see if I've read you?"

"Ravi.... Ravi Rajeev"

I turned around. Right in front of me was Ravi Rajeev. Its weird to meet someone you have pictured in your imagination already. A genie who is just black ink to you, suddenly turns into flesh and blood. The admiration that comes out so freely for that person in his absence, maybe because of that absence, suddenly becomes a confused reaction for a second. Nevertheless, I stole him from that chic and brought him to our table; introduced him to another friend of my who loved his work too. Toons is a tiny place so you are inadvertently drawn into everybody's conversation. Somebody in the next table liked him too. And then the word went around as to what the buzz was about. Quite a few came up to him and shook hands!

He turned out to be quite a guy. The one thing about writing is it never betrays the writer in reflecting his true self, no matter what he writes about. He doesn't write now, I couldn't even find a blog in fact. But even if the people who met him that evening were the only ones whose thoughts he must have stirred, it still must have done something in his heart. I wonder what.

That evening, he didn't ask, he didn't expect and didn't need those hand-shakes. Nor were they relevant to him anymore. But if there is undiluted pristine joy, this must have been it.