Reading Maketh a Full Man (An Essay)

---------------------This essay was written by me as a part of 'Global Essay Competition' held at Tata Consultancy Services. This write-up was awarded as the 3rd best essay. ---------------------

Some two thousand years ago, when kings were still finding it difficult to control their extending kingdoms, a text appeared in India which expounded statecraft, elucidated economic policies and rationalized defense of a country. This text served as the reference to the great empires of India for more than twelve hundred years and is known across the world as ‘Arthashastra’. One can only marvel the immense wisdom of words and how they reflect the same on each generation of kingdoms, states and mankind.

Though many today argue that internet has revolutionized the way knowledge is delivered, books still remain the favorite where matured reading is concerned. But both these mediums serve a common purpose of enlightening a man of his achievements and all that’s still left to be achieved. Reading these great works of history, epics, science and literature, man can only feel a sense of awe in how little he knows. And to quench his interest, he reads more.

With reading, a person learns to absorb facts and self evaluate the issues. Regular reading habit helps improve personality and broadens the horizon of thinking. Reading can be done as an activity of leisure, as a tool to attain knowledge or as a weapon of wisdom. An activity of leisure will get the person into the drawing room of rich with  monotonous laughter while knowledge will make him a perfectionist but it is with wisdom that he can truly call  himself a ‘full man’. Only people who draw conclusions out of what they read and then comprehend are really able to appreciate perception.

Intelligence could well be considered as one of the most misunderstood words. Sometimes it is confused with experience and some other times with mere understanding. But history proves that it is not man with simple knowledge who made a difference but men who had the courage to instrument that idea. These men or scholars or revolutionaries were not necessarily intelligent but ferocious for intelligence and were often inspired by their peers in literature and science. While Lenin was inspired by the writings of Karl Marx, James Maxwell introduced classical electromagnetic theory based upon the works of Faraday.                                                             

The reason behind man being the most sophisticated animal is his curiosity. It is necessary to satisfy his hunger of knowledge, if he is not to return to being an animal again. He has to read and learn to develop objective thinking and then implement it's conclusion for the progress of society and self. For a 'full man', reading could also be  considered as a way into a variety of complex problems but with a promise of an exit door which leads him, just like  Lenin and Maxwell, to being a man of wisdom and a man of free will.    

With Night and Darkness

I am not afraid of the dark because with darkness comes dreams...

Many before me have wondered the secret behind dreams and though any logical explanation is immaterial to the context, I would go with the popular belief that dreams are nothing but our innermost fears, our utmost desires and passions. Dreams are our own reflection in a very dusty mirror where even we didn’t dare look before. Dreams sometimes can be a way into the future or a reminder of the past and sometimes the horrors of present. And how we all love to live in these mirage of whirling emotions called dreams.

One such dark...

I flew across the deserts and saw life originating from sand. I travelled across the oceans to watch mermaids singing songs of love. I traversed continents with no borders. I was a spirit travelling the temples of India, mosques of Arabia and cathedrals in Italy. I talked to Buddha and listened to Krishna as they told me how beautiful the world is and how wonderful its creations are and that’s when, in a world of free will, I realized I was a writer.

I filled papers with black inks writing stories no-one read, poems none understood and words that haunted me all the time. I wrote about people I knew would hate me some day. I wrote about animals who I knew did not care. And I wrote about myself when I knew I will be dead in another few years. And still I wrote, pages after pages like a crazy person who got happiness in scribbling and tearing paper after paper. But tonight was different somehow, may be because it was a dark night or may be because I had finally discovered why I felt this crazy happiness.
 

And so with a smile, I looked around me and saw...I saw a world full of hope, a world where energy buzzed in the air like siren, a place where love prevailed, an impossible land where trees spoke words of wisdom to each other and wind sang melodies unheard. I saw a world free of pollution and untouched by corruption. I saw children playing in the mud, women saying prayer for the family and men returning home with hard-earned bread. And all these humans habiting this world had one precious gift – courage; courage to make dreams come true; and I knew that all those Gods who spoke to me were right. This world was indeed a beautiful place.

I saw my own house. I saw my reflection in the mirror which mercifully showed me sleeping peacefully. I went towards my study. I saw all the books I had collected over the years. Paper-backs and hard-backs of all dimensions, witness to the huge knowledge man-kind possessed and still lacked. I saw a small shelf with books written by me. I could see my name etched on every book in gold letters. But I was looking for one particular book I had written when I was still young. It was a book on dreams. It said something I couldn’t really remember now. I saw it stacked neatly in the middle. I picked it up. There it was, written right there on the first page. I touched those words and felt happiest beyond anything because these were my words – “Dreams are born in the night just to die in the morning. So in some ways dreams are just - born to be dead”

That’s when I woke up and continued being an engineer......and dreamt again and again of being a writer.

Over a Coffee

They must have read ‘A Lot Can Happen over a Coffee’ when they entered the dimly lit Cafe Coffee Day that lazy afternoon...

The girl looked hip in a lose white shirt, high pony and a lot of junk jewellery on her hands. The boy was tall with a simple black t-shirt, rugged jeans and spiked hairs. “College kids bunking classes,” I thought as I enjoyed a black forrest.

They both sat at chair opposite each other and ordered two cappuccinos. The girl must have said something funny because they both started laughing and talking loud suddenly. They were making fun of a couple in their college. And while laughing, the boy suddenly said, “You know what Maya, I think I love you.”

I watched as the silence from the girl filled the room. And then after some time, “Emm...Even I love you,” she said shrugging. They stood, went upto the couch and sat close together in firm approval of their recent relationship. As if to prove his point the boy put an arm around her neck. I believe they ordered one iced-tea and sipped it from the same glass as well.

Later, they walked out of the glass door (the boy paid, ofcourse) and I saw them standing there in the sun-light with their backs towards me. Their outline shone in the brilliant sun and reflected in the glass mirror of CCD. In that one captured moment, they were the most beautiful couple for me in the world.

“Modern Love,” I thought and continued my black forrest.

Last Night

Last night he – danced in the rain, laughed insane, drank like crazy, cried like a kid, blacked out and then puked...

Chapter 1:  Danced in the Rain

He was never a crazy person. He was someone we called – ‘living by the books’... But he loved chicken and was ready in a jiff when we planned to check out this new ‘grilled-chick’ joint in the town. I know he was talking to his girl-friend when we boarded the bus. How did I know? Just his expressions. No one else noticed ofcourse.

The status of our city had been – ‘too hot to handle’ for a very long time. I suppose (which I will later realize) that everything in ‘cosmos’ has its own reason. But how these chain of events are linked to us – we cannot say. And that’s why we were all surprised when the storm started. It started with the wind and then we noticed little droplets falling on the mirror of our bus, reflecting the light from in-coming vehicles.

You won’t believe me but I can swear that it started raining heavily the moment he stepped out of the bus. The food joint was half miles from the stop. We looked for a shelter and waited about five minutes when he said, “Let’s go” and started walking in the rain. “Adventure,” we all thought and followed him.

He was walking ahead of us. Alone. It was mesmerizing to watch his shadow forming strange patterns in the street light with the rain blurring his image. And then he started raising his hands. We all watched amused as he raised his hands above his head, did a round-turn and danced. He was humming a tune I cannot really remember. And then with his hands still raised above him, he looked up facing the falling water.

 Chapter 2:  Laughed Insane

He looked back at us. “I want to drink today,” he said.

Immediate plans were laid out to arrange the booze and get the chicken packed. While one went to get the food packed, the other ran in the direction of drinks. I looked for a shelter whereas he still stood in the rain watching. I later wondered what he might have been thinking.

I cannot really say what prompted him – but he started laughing. He looked at me and I smiled back with no idea why I was. He took a step back and almost got hit by the bus. “What the hell are you doing?” I went upto him and shouted. Completely drenched in the rain, he kept a hand on my shoulder as if reassuring me and started laughing again. I smiled besides myself. And then we both laughed  - for no reason at all. “What the heck, we are all crazy,” I thought. “What was he thinking?” is a question I pondered much later.

Chapter 3:  Drank like Crazy

The sweet bitter smell of whisky filled our nostrils as we filled one peg after another. I saw him sitting in the circle listening to all the stupid things we did in college and how those days would never come back. He listened to how we used to chase girls, bunk classes, play counter-strike late in the nights and got high for no reason at all.

And he kept drinking...

Chapter 4:  Cried Like a Kid

There are various phases one could experience while talking and drinking with friends. The first phase will usually start with – ‘cheers’. After some time it will come down to loud music and chatter. But when all this dies down and Pink Floyd starts taking over, I can swear I have heard things which in broad daylight, anyone would be embarrassed about.

It was during this phase that one of our friends was telling us about how he had lied at home and travelled the length of India just to meet a girl. He talked about those happy times - watching movies, laughing for no reason at all, holding each other’s hand and saying nothing and then his break-up.  

I guess people get more sentimental when they are drunk. May be that’s why I saw tears in his eyes. I am his friend. I should have asked him what was wrong. But then it is just this phase. “It will pass,” I thought and took a sip of whisky.

Chapter 5:  Blacked Out

I am sorry I almost forgot about the last phase...

“This thing what’s-it-called...Yeah Facebook...It’s it’s killing me. I am going to throw away this laptop,” he said as he swung his laptop with one hand almost sending it flying across the window. We had to convince him that FB is actually a social organization helping poor kids. So instead he opened FB – abused a few people, changed his status to married (which he regretted in the morning after a call from his girlfriend).

He stood, laughed over something and fell on the bed again, completely wasted.

Chapter 6: Puked.......

I saw him today morning. His room stank and he was snoring with vomit all over the floor. I should have been disgusted. I wasn’t, though. Instead I thought...

Here is a guy who slept in puke, cried like a kid, drank like crazy, laughed insane and danced in the rain. He is the guy who experienced happiness, the sheer joy of freedom, sadness, pain, ecstasy in just one night. And then, may be, he puked to let it all go just to experience one thing we never get – peace.

I am sure he won’t remember a thing when he wakes up. But I will always remember how he lived an entire lifetime in just one night. And to think of it, it was just last night.

Bed-Time Story : A very very short story

In very near future...

A little boy goes upto his mother and says, “Mom! Tell me a bed-time story so I can sleep”

The mother removes her I-pod, sets her chat status as ‘be-right-back’ and says, “But son, you can always you-tube them!”

“I can’t sleep with that you-tube story mom!”

The mother, bewildered replies, “Come son, then let’s just Google 10-best-ways-to-have-sound-sleep-while-watching-you-tube-story”

She changed her status from ‘be-right-back’ to ‘busy’. 


Nothing comes above a child’s bed-time story.

Experience Certainty

Imagine yourself, all blue eyed standing on an airport thinking that the life ahead is going to be full of excitement, imagining your first salary and all that you would want to do with it and then suddenly you see yourself in Chennai, stranded on Meenambakkam International Airport, drenched in rain with no taxi in sight and absolutely no idea where you want to go. And that is how began my journey into the professional world.

“Your base branch is Chennai and hence no accommodation would be provided to you at our end.” This is what our HR had told us. And so landed 500 odd people in Chennai with only one question on their minds – where next? Everybody was frantic to find a place to stay and to form groups they could stay with. I, on the other hand was concerned about just one thing – food. I was famished. I decided to have some idli-sambhar to rejuvenate my mind.

Some of my friends were already staying in a hotel. I decided to call them and see if there was a place available. Luckily, there was. My bags, like me were soaked by the time I managed to get a taxi. I have no idea how Chennai looked in that one and a half hour drive from the airport to hotel because I did one thing I am best at – sleep. All I remember waking up was the horrible face of the driver demanding more money.

It will be useless to explain the dimensions of the room I was to stay in for the next 3 days because it had everything except dimensions. It had a bed and that’s that. It was the only furnishing in the hole that I am going to refer as room from now on. I met my college friends who were in no better condition than I was. We decided to take a taxi for the next morning. But morning only comes after a night... 

   

 Imagine yourself again, in a hole with no cross ventilation, no mosquito repellent and the armies of mosquito drinking away your blood with leisure. Too painful right – so now stop imagining. I believe my blood tasted like sambhar too because I saw many mosqis dead when I woke up the next morning. But wait, did I even sleep that night...

Drenched in sweat, I managed to dress up in formals early morning the next day. The trip to Karapakkam where our induction was to be held, was uneventful with all of us sleeping all the time. If I haven’t told you already, sleep and food are the two biggest priorities of any IT Engineer. I met my friends from college and some of the common things between us were – constant complaining and grumbling. But there is also one other thing common between all of us, which also incidentally forms as one of the characteristics of IT Engineers – to make the best out of worst possible situations. So it was with a smile that we entered our building. Wait a second – it wasn’t just a building anymore. It was our company now.

The induction was comprised of various sessions spread all throughout the day. It was interesting in the beginning but later turned pretty monotonous. We were taught the various virtues of joining the company and various ideals on which it works – which were many actually. “Any incompliance would lead to termination,” we were told by a dangerous looking man.

“Experience Certainty. That’s what our motto is. Experience Certainty,” a person who looked had given a 1000 presentations was telling as we listened to him. “But tell me...Is it EXPERIENCE certainty or Experience CERTAINITY? Where would you put more emphasis?” Nobody dared speak. You cannot be wrong on your first day at job. “No one?” He smiled. “You sir, what do you think it is? EXPERIENCE certainty or Experience CERTAINITY?”

The sir he was referring to was a teary eyed boy who was missing his mom. “Is..is..is it.. Experience CERTAINITY?”

“No young man! It’s EXPERIENCE certainty. You see...any one can promise you certainty. But it is here...yes...right here that you EXPERIENCE it.”

We all clapped like little kids who had just been told that they have free access to  a chocolate factory or something. But somewhere I was also thinking on the same lines – “I have a job today. I am as many considered on the road towards standing on my own feet. I can clearly see 5 years ahead now. I have come down to Chennai to allow a certain certainty in my life. But would I EXPERIENCE it?”

Only time would tell...

Price Tag

“Sneha, sing a song for us beta!”

She rose, adjusted her skirt and started. Everyone stared in wonder as the 7 year old sang the bhajan, Tu hi Rama hai, tu Rahim hai, tu Kareem Krishna Khuda hua...

“Looks like Saraswati herself resides in the little one,” commented one. “She has got a career in singing Madhu. Send her to Indian Idol or something,” commented another. Madhu beamed with pride as she saw her daughter playing with children her own age. She looked at the contrast as other children fought with each other over the toys while Sneha stood calmly above all of them leading them into harmony. “She is already growing up,” thought Madhu, “Soon we will be thinking about her marriage.” The thought brought tears to her eyes.

“Ma! I am going to Nandini didi’s house” “No I don’t want the milk” “Byeee!”

She turned to see her mother running towards her with the milk glass in hand. The doors to the lifts closed. She greeted Seema aunty on the fourth floor, specially went to meet Tuffy, Rekha aunty’s dog on the second floor and met Mohit bhaiya in the lift. He was a software engineer and was among the many bachelors living in the society. He often joked that Sneha was his best buddy and always remembered to bring chocolates for her from his trips abroad.

“Where to, Sneha?” he asked.

“I am going to Nandi di’s house bhaiya. So long. How is your job?”

“Don’t trouble your little mind with my job Sneha,” he laughed, “I bought chocolates for you from Switzerland. Care join us in the evening?”

“Wowz bhaiya! You are the best!” she said

“I know Sneha beta!” he said, “And yeah! Tell Nandi that Mohit remembers her”

“Okies!” she said and jumped out of the lift. She half walked, half hopped towards Nandini’s house.

Everyone in the society building knew Sneha. She was, as referred by many, the coolest kid on the block. She was intelligent, friendly and smart, all at the same time. She was far mature than the kids her own age. She never gave advice to anyone, not even children younger her age but still all people sought her out may be because her simple presence was comforting enough. Young couples in the society looked at her and wished they will have a daughter like her someday. But her biggest talent was her voice. She spoke bubbly like a 7 year old but her voice held the wisdom of an adult. Elders in the society claimed that nightingale herself sat in her throat when she started singing. At every school concert and social gatherings, she was the toast of everyone’s ears as she sang from Bollywood classics to Meera’s bhajans. Madhu was the envy of many mothers in the neighbourhood. But even Madhu knew the source of this extra-ordinary talent.

Nandini, Sneha’s music teacher lived in the same society. Sneha was just five when Madhu brought her to Nandini for music classes. It didn’t take long for her to appreciate the huge potential Sneha had. Soon she saw in her, a little sister she always wanted. She taught her all about the world of music and often marvelled how much the little kid already knew. Sneha, too loved her like an elder sister and respected her as a mentor.   

Nandini’s house was bustling with activity. People were shouting orders at each other. Nobody seemed to care that a little girl had entered the house. Sneha looked for Nandini but didn’t find her. She just saw a lot of sweets and a lot of girls she knew as Nandini’s cousins chattering excitedly. And then Nandini’s mother noticed her, “Sneha beta!” She looked like she had just run a marathon. “Nandini won’t be able to teach anything today”

“What’s happening aunty?” But aunty had already turned and had started shouting at someone about flower arrangement leaving little Sneha utterly confused about what she was supposed to do.

“Yo Sneha! Little baby, come here,” one of Nandini’s friend spotted her in the hall. She took her hand and led her into Nandini’s room. Nandini was sitting infront of the mirror. She wore simple jewellery and her hairs were tied neatly in a tight bun. She was wearing a beautifully embroidered red saree and was applying mascara in her eyes. She looked extremely beautiful, Sneha noted.

“What’s happening Megha didi?” Sneha asked Nandini’s friend.

“Don’t you know Sneha my love? Nandu, you didn’t tell our little sister here?” Nandini blushed but didn’t say anything.

“Your Nandi didi is getting married. The boy side is coming to see her today. Isn’t that exciting Sneha?” said Megha and started helping Nandini with her make-up.

“That means you won’t be teaching me music anymore Nandi didi?” little Sneha was heartbroken. She had heard her mother tell that every girl had to go and live at boy’s home after marriage.

“Sneha my beta! Ofcourse I will teach. Anywhere I go, no one can separate you and me. Now come here to your Nandi didi” she said stretching her arms. Sneha went and sat in her lap. This is how Nandini taught her all the ragas. Teacher and student – two sisters sitting with each other putting together a melody that vibrates their little world and rules their blood making them inseparable.

“Nandini are you ready? They might come any moment,” Nandini’s mother peeked in and declared.

“You have already said that hundred times ma! I am ready. Don’t worry”

“And Megha what are you doing here? Come there is a lot to do in the kitchen,” she said.

“Aunty looks like a warrior on a battlefield Nandi. She has the whole house at her command right now,” said Megha and went out leaving the two of them alone.

Nandini’s father had died of kidney failures. Whatever little money he had saved from his meagre salary in a government office was spent during his illness. From then on, her mother had taken it upon herself to take care of their only daughter. With an excellent voice, Nandini could have entered any music competition but her mother strictly forbade her. She didn’t really appreciate the short clothes girls had to wear on reality T.V. But she allowed her to take up teaching small kids. Even she liked little Sneha and listened to both Nandini and her when they practiced. Her only concern now was to see her daughter married in a nice home. She wanted the best for her only child. In the past eight months, four families had come to see Nandini and though they couldn’t find any fault with her, every one of them rejected the matrimony. Some said horoscopes and some made meek excuses. But Sneha’s mother knew better – the best always comes with a price tag they could not afford.      

Sneha looked at Nandini in the mirror and said, “Have you seen the boy, didi?”

Nandini played with her cheeks, “Yes! I have seen his photograph. He is coming today. Even you will get to see him now”

“Is he handsome like Mohit bhaiya?”

Nandini was taken aback but replied playfully, “No! Not like him”

“Does he too have a good job like Mohit bhaiya?”

“A better one, Sneha beta! And what’s this Mohit fixation of yours? Is he offering you more chocolates?” she laughed. She had once fought with Mohit for giving chocolates to Sneha which were bad for her teeth and voice.

Sneha looked at their reflection in the mirror. “You look beautiful Nandini didi”

“And so do you my little sister”

Somebody shouted that they have arrived. Megha burst into the room and all three of them ran towards the terrace to catch a glimpse of the boy. Sneha tried to look above the railings of the small balcony but couldn’t manage. Megha took her in her arms and made her to stand on a table. The three girls looked at the cars that were driving into the society. Nandini tried to hide behind Megha, afraid, the boy might see her. He stepped out from the car first. He was tall, fair with an air of authority around him. He looked around familiarising himself with the surroundings and then opened the doors for his mother. She was in her early 50s, an affluent looking lady with lots of diamonds which shone under the climbing sun. His father and mother along with some close relatives had arrived to see the bride-to-be.

“Hmm...Smart” Megha tugged at Nandini, “Mother looks a little arrogant. Atleast look at him Nandi,” she said playfully, “What do you think of your jijaji to be, Sneha?”

“Don’t call him that. Not yet,” said Nandini and pushed her too. The flower vase on the balcony fell two floors below at their feet. They all looked above only to catch a glimpse of few girls running away and Sneha standing alone on the table still watching them awkwardly.

“You almost killed him Nandi,” said Megha laughing.

“Wouldn’t that be fun?” said Nandini.

Sneha noticed the joy with which the two families met. Ladies of the house greeted each other with a Namaste. Pleasantries were exchanged and everybody looked happy. The only person who looked awkward among the crowd was the boy. Poor chap had no idea what he was supposed to do or say. “He looks o.k. Not like Mohit Bhaiya. But...emm...o.k. He could have got killed today though,” noted Sneha. Boy’s mother didn’t turn out to be as stern as she looked and said after a while, “Bhabhiji, we came here to meet our Nandini. But we don’t see her” She looked at her son and said, “Yes Ashish?” The boy said nothing may be because everybody had tried to stuff his mouth with sweets. Nandini’s cousins were not ready to leave his side while Sneha watched from a corner as Nandini was ushered into the room by her mausi.

Ashish stood to greet her as Nandini’s mother beamed with pride. Her daughter looked like a pari (an angel). She sat with Ashish’s mother who too seemed impressed by her beauty. Sneha soon became disinterested in the conversation which was mostly concentrated around Nandini’s education, her cookery skills and about Ashish’s job and his imminent promotion. She busied herself in stealing sweets whenever she thought no one was looking.

“Nandini, go and show Ashish around” said Nandini’s mother which was followed by her cousin’s giggles. They both stood and Sneha started to follow them.

“Sneha, stay with Megha” said Nandini when she saw her.

“Let the little girl come with us” said Ashish. This was the first time he had spoken to her directly. The sentence wasn’t a command. It was just...a sentence and spoken with such warm voice that Nandini knew that here was a man she could respect. “Infact she is the only one courageous enough to stay back after throwing a vase at guests,” he said looking at Nandini.

Sneha regretted coming with them. If adults were boring in the dinner room then these two were worse than them. “I should have brought some kajus along,” she thought. She was sitting in Nandini’s lap and there was no chance of going back as well. So she played with Nandini’s hand all the while.

Nandini looked at Ashish. The way he sat straight, the way he looked directly into her eyes and talked, smiled. The conversation came naturally to both of them. While he talked about his career in US and his food habits; she told him about her family and music. There was something different about him than the other guys she had met. They chatted merrily for some time when he said, “So what do you think?”

“About what?”

“I mean we have to tell them something when we go back right?”

Nandini didn’t say anything. She didn’t understand. Was she supposed to say she liked him? Or that she was ready to marry him? “Not infront of him atleast,” she thought. So she kept quiet and he waited...

The three of them went back inside. The mood of the room looked different than they had left. Nobody was laughing. The cousins were not there. Just the adults talking to each other. Nandini’s mother was close to tears. Megha came by Nandini’s side and took her by the arm to lead her into her room. Sneha too followed them. The cousins sat gloomily in a corner.

“What’s happening Megha?” she asked fearing the worst.

“Money,” said Megha slowly.

“But...He...No!” she couldn’t hold her voice, “Mummy?”

“You don’t wanna know Nandini. Trust me.”

“Enough!,” she said and went out of the room.

She looked at Ashish once. He said nothing. And then she knew...

“Stop crying like a kid mummy!” she said loudly. Everyone in the room turned to her. “What do you all want han?” “This?” She said removing her bangles. She threw them on the table infront of Ashish’s mother. “But you know what, even all this won’t be enough for you” She started removing her ear rings. “I suggest you to go put your son in a market and sell him to the highest bidder. And you” She turned to Ashish as she removed her necklace, “Just an hour back you were talking about courage. And you wanted to know whether I want to marry you? The answer is no. Now get the hell out of our house” She threw the last piece of jewellery at them.

Sneha had heard the shouting but didn’t dare go out. Nandini came back inside. She found comfort in her friend’s arms, “Megha!” she cried when her friend tried to console her, “I am tired, Megha. I am tired of wearing this jewellery again and again. Just look at me. I look like a doll on display, only in a cheap shop where nobody even bothers to look. I am tired of looking at mum. Just look at her now. Always thinking that this time everything will turn out to be fine. I am tired of the hope and sadness in her eyes, Megha. I am so tired...” And she cried her heart out. Sneha went and hugged the two girls too. Nandini wiped the tears with her hands and turned to her, “It’s wrong being a girl, Sneha. It’s so freakin’ unfair.” She took Sneha’s face in her hands, “Go back to your home beta. Come at regular time tomorrow” Sneha came out of the building with mascara from Nandini’s hands on her face...carrying the darkness of Nandini’s crying eyes on her innocent face, awaiting may be, for her own dark day. She didn’t know that darkness awaited from the day doctor declared she is a girl.

She looked at the numbers on the lift. She should press ‘6’ to reach her apartment. She pressed ‘7’.

“Right on time huh Sneha? Chocolates and you are so inseparable. And what have you done with your face?” said Mohit looking at the mascara on her face. “What happened?” He said noticing her empty expression.

“Some boy came to see Nandi didi today. She is crying now”

“Some boy? What do you mean some boy? Is she getting married?”

“She was getting married,” said Sneha.

“But that can’t be. She is so...” he stopped for a while, “...young. Who? What happened, Sneha? Tell me everything,” he said seriously.

“I don’t know bhaiya. Megha didi said something about money and then she started shouting and crying. I don’t know bhaiya. I had never seen her cry”

He was silent for a long time.

“I know. I know beta. She is always laughing, infact. Isn’t she? Remember that time when we used to play volleyball and I accidently hit her nose? She had slapped me you know and then had started laughing,” he said smiling now, “And the time she scolded me for giving you chocolates. Man! I had never met a more furious girl. But she looked better laughing. Didn’t she? And the voice! She could have been the next Lata Mangeshkar if she had wanted to, Sneha” He spoke while she looked on, “We were such fun kids, with not a worry in the world, celebrating birthdays, new years, making fun of the elders and then we... suddenly grew up, I guess” He paused for a while. “May be that is why aunty stopped her from coming out of the house and seeing me. We were growing up” He paused again and then said, “No, she was growing up. And then I went abroad...Now she is getting married. But I thought...I thought...there is still time” He was barely noticing Sneha now. He was walking towards the balcony lost in his own thoughts. Sneha followed. “Countless times I used to see her from here,” he said looking at the opposite balcony which was Nandini’s, “She never knew, ofcourse. How would she know? I never told her. I never told anything to her. But I thought...I thought...there is still time”

He was looking at the balcony hoping to see a sign of life again. He didn’t see any. Sneha tucked at his shirt, “Bhaiya...Why don’t you marry her?” She too looked at the opposite window. And then there was light. Nandini came out and saw both of them standing and looking at her...    

...In search of a happy ending for every princess...

Chauraha

“Beta! What would you like to become when you grow up?” The favorite question of my aunt’s cousin twice removed. I never understood that relation my whole life. But whoever she was I loved my Aunt’s cousin twice removed because she always brought huge packets of chocolate for me. But the question remained. What would I like to become when I grow up. This was also the favorite question of Anita Aunty, Sushma Aunty and all the Aunties whose son were in IITs or other big engineering colleges. I always thought…

What the hell do these people mean by ‘Beta! when you grow up’. I was grown up. After all I was 5 years old and was already getting to understand the spellings of ‘enginir’ and  ‘doctar.

Yes! I was a 5 year old ‘bacha’ trying to figure out what I would be when I am 22 or 23 years old! I am sure if you had asked Pamela Anderson the same question, she would have died of heart attack. How could I take such a big decision on my future when my favorite hobby was still eating mud at home and teacher’s brain at school.

But I had a ready-made example personified in my own house. My bhaiya Tarun. “Oh! Look at him. He is so intelligent”, my teary eyed mother would often say. “See he has again topped the class Varun. You should learn something from your bhaiya beta!”, my neighbour (whose son was in IIT) always told me. I always wanted to tell her to shut up and mind her own business. I never did that because her son, though in IIT was known to be a boxing champ and I really didn’t want my teeth to end up in my stomach.

My bhaiya Tarun who was ‘Oh so intelligent’ was, in my opinion, nothing but an oversized monkey. Not because he looked like a monkey(Monkeys are better-looking than him and they are not as fat as he is and they also don’t have the ability to cram everything in sight), but because he behaved like a total monkey. His mouth was always half open due to the teeth which were soon going to fall out and he laughed(which he seldom did) like monkey. It was more of a ‘khee-khee’ than a ‘ha-ha’. But still he was something yaar. He was just 13 years old but he was confident that he would become an engineer some day. If only I could have that sort of confidence, I often thought, the world is in my hands. After all I was 5 years old…

My favorite cricketer was Vinod Kambli. Not because he was classy but because he was a lefty like me. Now, Brian Lara is also a left handed batsman, my nukkad friends said. But he wasn’t Indian so I didn’t like him much. Being a 7 year old I could atleast do that much to be a true patriotic. I don’t know when I started playing cricket in the society street we children called ‘nukkad’. But the day I broke Sarita Chachi’s 5^th floor window, I was declared the best batsmen of our ‘nukkad midgets’ team and I was finally a ‘pakka’ player. Rainy or sunny, we never missed cricket. We all went to Amol’s place to watch cricket matches in colour. We cheered on every six and danced on every Indian win. And there, seeing Vinod kambli giving a nice thrashing to every other baller, I decided I wanted to be a cricketer some day. The day my bhai got into IIT my cricketing career was put to a halt to prepare me for the same fate. Vinod Kambli retired from international cricket a few years later.

By the time I turned 13, I was avoiding failing in mathematics in class VII while Tarun scored yet another 9 pointer (his CGPA was 9.7) in his second year. “What is this CGPA again?”, I asked Tarun. He told me to shut up and concentrate on my percentage. Once a monkey, always a monkey, I decided. The questions and suggestions about my career kept pouring in from various sources. Some distant aunt in U.S. mailed my dad to prepare me for GRE (my dad didn’t knew the full form when I asked him), some unwanted aunty in the neighborhood told me to go for specialized courses from Delhi and a friend of mine told me that someday we both could open a shop together. My brother always bragged me to study harder as it’s not an easy job to get into top institutions. In turn, I always begged him to lose some weight as it’s not an easy job getting married with a belly ready to explode at any time.

The day came when I cleared my high school and I was the happiest person on earth. My house felt like someone had died. My brother called from U.S. to tell how badly I had performed and how much shame I had brought him and the family. My marks were immediately tallied with my brother’s who had completed high school 8 years ago!! I had scored 67%. Tarun’s score was 96%.

Getting admission in XI was a difficult job. There were entrance tests, personal interviews, parent’s interviews. Some even considered calling the grand-parents. I thanked God they didn’t call my dog because it definitely didn’t have a very good upbringing and I am sure it wasn’t very fond of nagging principals as well. Finally I managed Vidya Bharti School which was the 8^th best school in Meerut. My mother who had cried the day my brother got into IIT took a sigh of relief when I got the admission letter.

The melodrama in our house-hold had started. My mom had it straight out of Kasautti Zindagi Kii where everyone will stand facing each other saying nothing at all and my dad had it out of Aaj Tak where you had to believe whatever the person on the screen is saying. My mom listened to unwanted aunties about me and said nothing and my dad listened to the relatives and thought they were right about my career. I, on my part, just felt a sting that my mom and dad have to listen to people because of me. My mom and various ‘unwanted aunties’ discussed over my future prospects during kitty parties and society dinners. I was always kept up-to-date about the ranks of other’s sons, son’s friends and their brothers. The coaching centre was a horror where we were divided into batches according to our ranks. I always managed to maintain the last batch. I was relieved the day dad told me that I would never get into IIT. Atleast he had come to terms with the hard reality.

As prophesized by my father, I didn’t get into IIT, didn’t manage any NIT, and wasn’t accepted in Delhi University. I was a complete failure. Dad told me that it wasn’t any use going to any other counseling as it would be just a waste of time and money. The days were hard to pass by. I was not allowed to meet my friends. I wasn’t even allowed to play cricket. Tarun left his MNC job the same year and cleared CAT. He was among the elite students and got admission into IIM Ahmedabad. I wanted to drown somewhere. The day he came home he made a face like a chimpanzee (which wasn’t really hard for him) and told me that I have turned into a good for nothing teenager of this useless country. I congratulated him on his success and realized (more due to the shame inside) that the ‘unwanted aunties’ were right and it was time to think about my career.

I went into the college (the 3^rd best in Meerut, Gosh! I was improving my standards) with the dream of making it big here. The dream was shattered the second day when I saw Tina. She was the prettiest and the most famous girl in my department. Naturally, whole ‘janta’ wanted her. There is one big problem with famous girls: they know they are famous which makes it virtually impossible to impress them. I tried talking to her infamous friends (all famous girls have infamous friends who make her all the more famous) but all in vain. My friends (who all had taken it upon themselves to make the life of every creature walking on earth a misery) told me the final solution to this universal problem. They told me if there is one thing a woman of any proportion can’t resist, its music.

Music… Hmm… It seems there is an invisible bond between music, musicians and girls. They are practically impossible to separate. It was then, to impress Tina that I decided to become a musician. As soon as I entered this world of rock, punk and metal, I came to know that my knowledge in this area of ‘simplest way to impress a girl’ was rather very limited because the only music I had ever heard was Rafi and Geeta Dutt my mom used to play on the radio. They were all dead. I didn’t wanted to be a singer and end up dead, I decided. But in this losing battle of love and decision I had to choose something. My friends told me to play some instrument.

I could play tabla but as it turned out it is one of the most unromantic instrument in music industry, my friends told me. They were right actually. How would a girl like you when she sees you beating something as cute looking as a tabla? I held a guitar in my hand and we formed a band. My deep analysis on the matter turned out to be right and as soon as the word got around that I was a guitarist, Tina herself came to me (actually quite stuck to me) and we became ‘good friends’. She asked me to participate in the college rock fest. For her sake I did and we came fourth. Tina left me and I soon found out that she was now the ‘best-friend’ of the lead singer of the winning band. I soon overcame her because I realized that if at all there was a bigger misery to mankind than Paris Hilton – it was her.

The biggest effect of this rock fest was felt upon my mother who finally had something to tell about me. She told every relative who would listen, how her son loved music and came fourth in the college fest. She just forgot to mention the fact that there were just four bands competing.

All my worthless life I remained the key hit-point of every ‘unwanted aunty’ of our colony. What was so special about these aunties, I often thought. I am sure there is an ‘unwanted aunty’ in every colony and society. The supreme commander of these aunties was Rita Aunty who took it upon herself to find the latest gossips of the society. I am sure even Aaj Tak is not as fast as her in spreading rumors and news of all the pangas. She had the complete bio-data of other aunties’ son, daughter and their friends. Inspite of her marriage being a total failure, she always had a few rishtaas for every bachelor in our society. She never suggested any rishta for me.

I started with my third year when I came to know that Rita Aunty had a proposal for Tarun. He had completed his freak MBA and was now placed in one of the biggest banks of Germany. He married a few months later. Even mothers realize that in cases like my brother’s, people are sometimes very lucky to get married. My mother looked content with her elder son. My bhabhi was extremely beautiful and I never understood what she saw in my brother. But then the combined effect of being beautiful and the weight of fat Euro cheques may sometimes make you very dumb. They both moved to Germany and had a son who I heard was a genius as well. My mother also told me that he had bought a Mercedes. Once a monkey, always a monkey, I thought.

Student Council elections are a rage in our college. The past record showed that only the supreme leader of total lukhaas became the college President. As I fulfilled all the qualifications of a true lukhaa I was made a nominee. A few friendly fights, my friend’s ‘convincing powers’ and on some occasions the unavoidable gundagardi saw me being made the President of our college. I found it quite ironical as I wasn’t sure who the President of India was. I was loved and feared by all as I represented the common man of my college. I was their savior, their Lalu as they fondly called me. Some even went far enough to compare me to Mayawati.

I was happy. I was a leader now recognized and feared by all. Finally I was able to make it big in college. But above all I was now worthy enough to be the topic of discussion of Rita Aunty’s gossips. I was asked for lunch where other aunties’ son came for discussing their problems in other colleges of Meerut as well. I was their leader, their savior. As a college President I had enough power to manage through the rest of my two years without much studying. My ‘charm’ was enough for professors who refused to give me marks.

Passing through college, I again found myself at a chauraha. The paths lead to various post graduates or a marginal salary in Mother Dairy. I took the fifth route. I decided to join politics. I joined the youth group of a ‘very big’ party in the same year when my brother moved in as the CEO of a ‘very big’ company in Germany and finally got a citizenship there. My parents, as usual were very unhappy with me which was not a big deal anymore. Sitting in my room, with nothing to do, I often thought:

What is it that my mom actually expected from her children? There was one who was never with her, who never took her to the doctor when she was ill, who never went to the mandi with her and who was never around to bear the pain of sitting with ‘unwanted aunties’ and then there was the other one who was always with her in pain, in sorrow, in happy times and on her birthday… There was one whose duty seemed like just sending cheques in Euro along with a photograph (from which a monkey, a beautiful damsel and a kid who looked the breed of two would be laughing at you sheepishly from Eiffel Tower) and there was other who stood by her not in a photograph but in her old age… Somehow, they had lost their love for me… I love my parents…

I became the big party’s youth leader. My job was to impress young college kids (read gundaas) to join our party. We used both money and power to influence the poor into joining hands with us. We held rallies and marches all over the town. Senior party officials often told us to fight with police to gain media attention. We broke windows, collected hafta tax and organized the birthday party of our party leader. We were becoming lukhaas on a big scale. From a musician turned politician, I had become a gunda. I was sick of this power. Rita Aunty had stopped mentioning me because her own son was in college now and she feared she might upset me with her nonsense talks. I never told her that her talks had upset me since I was 14 years old. I never tried to induct her son into the party. Infact, I left the party myself.

Aunty must have partied hard the night I left the party. Because her gossiping about how ‘they’ had thrown me out of the party had started the very next day. I sat at home and either listened to Aaj Tak or my father and was surprised how similar both sounded. You could always neglect the waste part, I often told myself. My friends from college and party workers often came to my house to try and convince me to come back. They now compared me to Gandhiji who I came to know had put on a hunger strike against the policies of British. My friends thought that I was on some similar mission against my party. I promptly told them that I was on no hunger strike and offered them some aaloo parathas. They all tried to tell me what differences I could bring to the nation and showed me Rang De Basanti (in which a hero who is fond of changing his hair style brings about a revolution in youth sacrificing his own life). I told them I had no ideas of sacrificing my life. It was then that someone mentioned I looked just like Aamir Khan.

I looked like Aamir Khan!? Hmm… I looked at myself in the mirror. Not bad, I thought. I could see muscles building up at the right places with a chocolaty face. I am good looking!, I was surprised. I could be a movie star, I told myself. I had done a few dramas in my school and college. I remembered when I had played Lakshman in school Ramayana. Sita had definitely given me a mischievous look. I talked about it with my parents who instantly refused to send me anywhere unless I had a paid job. My father after seeing the terrible face of my elder brother probably couldn’t believe that his other son could actually be a movie star. I respected my parents but what else could I have done. All confused, a week later, I ran away from home.

15 years later…

… Reporter: You came here with nothing in hand and today you are on the front cover of every Bollywood magazine and are working with the biggest production houses. How do you feel Rishabh or should I call you Varun?   

 

Rishabh Kumar: Name really doesn’t matter. You can call me whatever you like but yes my real name is Varun. Rishabh is what industry has bestowed upon me and I really respect both my names. And yes it’s true that when I came here, I had nothing in hand except will power. But it’s just been 14 years in the industry and I still feel like a new face. New works keep coming up and I take all of them as a challenge. I still have a long way to go, I believe.

Reporter: Being really modest aren’t you? Mumbai is called the city of dreams. Did you ever dream that rising from a small town you would ever come here and be the next superstar?

Rishabh Kumar: (smiles) how many of your dreams do you remember?

Reporter: Not many.

Rishabh Kumar: Exactly. Because dreams are beautiful but as pessimistic as it may sound or as optimistic as we may want it to be, dreams never come true. We dream, we enjoy and then we forget them. Crossing the various crossroads of my own life, I realized that I never dreamt. Infact, I was a very confused person. A day came when I wanted to a be a cricketer, someday a musician, the other day the President of India and like all these days one day I wanted to be an actor. But I can proudly tell you that, may be not to perfection, but I have lived all these dreams. I realized that while confident people become CEOs, managers, chairpersons of big companies, the confused people are like…me…artists in a bigger sense.

The spot boy came in, “Sir, the shot is ready”.

Gently Falls the Bakula

Title: Gently Falls the Bakula

Author: Sudha Murthy

Genre: Fiction, Light Drama

Written originally in Kannada some thirty years back, this small fiction by Sudha Murthy is the tale of a lower middle class couple from North Karnataka and their struggle to find their own individuality. Srikanth and Srimati are neighbors in Hubli, their houses separated by a not-so-beautiful-but-still-so ‘bakula’ tree. Both of them are the treat of the school each standing first or second in the class. Childhood competition slowly culminates into romance inspite of rivalries between the two families. While Srikanth goes to ‘Bombay’ to study in IIT; Srimati, who was incidentally academically better than him stayed back to study her passion for history. They get married and while Srikanth rises meteorically in his career, Srimati has a hard time discovering her true purpose of existence. And hence begin a struggle of a brilliant house wife to find her own happiness.

The book is written in a very simple language and though the subject matter deals with emotions of every day life of a couple, it fails to keep the reader interested in the subject. We see these kind of stories everyday now. In daily soaps and in the neighborhood. The story is definitely short and precise but in the end you will feel that it’s incomplete. I won’t say more tragedy would have done any justice to the novel. But somehow, one is unable to feel the emotions that Srimati goes through. The choice of words and the simple writing style may well be the bane of this novel.

What one can understand from this novel though is that there is a perspective to everything. Men who have to earn a family’s bread have to be ambitious and hard-working and motivated but do they have the right to neglect their family in the process? Women have to manage a home and take care of the kids but do they really lose their own integrity in the process? The book raises societal questions. And though no one turns out to be wrong, the question of who is right and whose sacrifice is greater than the other looms. This book is hence a debate between men and women. Perspective, as it is, always ends in a question mark.

Rajneeti

Title: Rajneeti

Director: Prakash Jha
Actors: Ranbir Kapoor, Ajay Devgan, Manoj Bajpai, Nana Patekar, Katrina Kaif

My comments: Story or Reality? What’s worth?

You can watch this movie with two angles. Story and reality. As far as story is considered there is no doubt it is a very good story. But wasn’t Mahabharata a very good story as well. Inspired mildly by the epic Mahabharata this is the story of a political family torn between war for the power of a state. After an attack to the elder brother, the son of younger brother (Prithvi, Arjun Rampal) is left with the reigns of the family politics leaving the son (Veerendra Pratap Singh, Manoj Bajpai) of the elder brother seething with rage who, with the help of a dalit leader (Suraj, Ajay Devgan) wants to lead the state into a political turmoil. But in comes the Arjun or Ranbir Kapoor helped by mamaji – Nana Patekar, who saves the day for his family with sheer Michael Corleone style Godfather tactics, eliminating each and every piece of the chess quite systematically and ruthlessly. Now this is the story we have read and appreciated in both the Mahabharata (there is a scene between Suraj and his birth mother resembling the scene between Karna and Kunti in the epic) and the Godfather. The interest really builds up when Katrina comes in a simple plain saree to take the command but doesn’t last long enough.


What can be appreciated with this angle in movie is the acting of the star cast. Every single actor in the movie has given an absolutely brilliant performance. Whether it be Manoj Bajpai as the jealous cousin or Nana Patekar as the politico giant. Arjun Rampal has done a fab job with his angry yet loving image of a country politician. Ajay Devgan has again proved why he is the master of silent roles. Ranbir Kapoor, too, tries and break away from the ‘lover boy’ tag pasted upon him and brings in refreshing performance.

But now we must consider the other angle. Reality. There are many questions we should ask ourselves after watching this movie. Do people really break each other’s rallies? Do people really go for a killing spree as a solution for a political motive? Is the solution to every problem killing your opponent? If you see these questions, then Rajneeti won’t seem as impressive as it is made to be. Good story but probably not in the current context of things. Good acting but probably not the real world scenarios.

The movie is good or made out to be good? Only you can watch and tell. But its definitely worth watching once. If for nothing else, go and watch it to see Mahabharata brought onto the screen for the first time in a stylized vision.

The Fountainhead

Title:     The Fountainhead
Author: AynRand
My comment: Read the book to find how imperfect we all are...


A lot has already been written about this book. This one book has changed millions of people around the world. People studying literature have done thesis on the characters, theme and philosophy of this book. And I, quiet naturally, feel humbled writing about such a great novel.


What makes a book or a story or in a broader sense – literature – ‘great’? What are those elements that imprint the words upon reader’s mind? What makes the reader feel connected with the literature he reads?

It’s the characters.

Howard Roark, the hero, the human who believes in the ‘I’ and not the ‘We’ of collectivism is the identity of a true man fighting and braving the world to stand by his principles.

Peter Keating, the exact opposite is what every person desires to be but in the end cannot be – ambitious, successful, admired.

Dominique Francon, a lady who knows the true worth of a man and is ready to sacrifice herself to save the other.

Gail Wynand, a multi millionaire, power hungry, appreciates art but has the habit of collecting it just for him and for no other.

Ellsworth Toohey – perhaps the most dubious character in the book who shows how there is no white and no black - only a grey, which is perhaps the dangerous of all.

These characters are what we actually are. They are not larger than life. They are not out of the world images of God, Goddesses or Demons but humans who actually exist within us and around us. How simply these characters have been written on a piece of paper, impresses upon the reader the mastery of the writer.

The story revolves around architecture and sky-scrapers. It is the story of Howard Roark, the architect who finds himself fighting the society, the rich, the poor, the common man and even his love. Only because he is the egotist not ready to give up on his principles and ideals he holds so dear. He represents the ideal man - a man as he should be.

“Look at the man standing infront of the skyscraper. The man seems dwarfed by the building. But remember – it was built by him”

There are various philosophies associated with the book which later take form of Ayn Rand’s own philosophy of Objectivism. But the true essence of ‘The Fountainhead’ is to value an individual as a whole, to place oneself above the rest for only then we will be able to feel no remorse, no sadness and no jealousy. The book explains why selflessness is the biggest fraud of virtue man implied upon himself because there is nothing of ‘self’ left in selflessness.

This book isn’t a story of men. It is a fight for men. It represents everything we stand for but never have the courage to fight for. And after you have read it you will be left asking – can I be like him? Can I be perfect? Can I be like Howard Roark? Read this book and find how imperfect you are.