Let’s Ask For That Change

Everyone is talking about change now a days. They are all asking change in public utilities, change in government policies, change in climatic conditions, change in society  and change in perceptions. I am also concerned about change. I am concerned about my change. The change that I deserve. The change they have robbed me of. The change that they all owe me.

I read newspaper (worth Rs.3) every day. World economy is facing a slowdown. US economy is still hanging on a balance. Euro zone is in pits. But guess what - Indian economy is thriving. Ah! don’t believe what the share markets or industry experts tell you. They don’t know what is happening in India since they are busy - shouting all day. Don’t trust the local traders as well because they are also busy shouting. They are shouting the trading rates of shares, bonds and commodities. And they are so busy shouting that no one has the time to wonder where these commodities are going or who is buying them. Well, I am buying them.

And it so happens that after all the shouting and ding-dong in the mandi (market where pulses (worth Rs. 42), vegetables etc. are sold), I buy some potato (worth Rs. 31), a little tomato (worth Rs.21 ) and one onion (worth Rs. 4). Onions have become really expensive for me to buy now, you see. “Chappan rupya hua hai!,” cried the vegetable monger (Rs. 56 in total). I hand him Rs. 60 and wait for my change. Keeping the notes firmly in one of his wooden boxes the monger started helping another customer with his vegetables. After a lull of about 5 seconds, he looked up at me. I looked back at him. His ‘look’ changed to frown followed by my own burrowed frown. Only when his expression turned into quizzical that I demanded my change. The vegetable monger was horrified. The customer-in-waiting besides me gave me a how-cheap look. Fed-up of all these twisted faces, I decided to leave the place with dignity (worth Priceless).

These people have now devised strategies to steal my change. They tag their services with prices such as Rs. 399 or Rs. 1099. Now when I give them 100 rupee notes, they slyly rob me of that 1 rupee extra I give them. They are all in this together and they are all out to make me poorer by not giving back the change.

I remember the good old time when nobody was really worried about the economy or about inflation or rising petrol prices (worth Rs. 73). Times like these, I had to beg at home for a rupee to buy even an ice-cream gola (worth Rs. 1). You had to fight with the rickshaw wallahs for every 2 rupees. These were good times - since there was no 500 rupee note, people always had change.

Today, people have devised new methods to loot people of their change. Not two but three shining examples of this phenomenon that has caught up with all general store owners and others:

1    You go to a store and buy a Sneakers chhoti waali (worth Rs. 15) and give the owner Rs. 20. He always tries to sell me a Five Star chhoti waali (worth Rs. 5) along with it to avoid giving me the change. He wants to eat away at my 5 rupees! I could buy a coke chhoti waali in 1998 with 5 rupees.

2    I ordered a few books from an online store. The books cost me 1057 rupees and I gave 1060 rupees to the delivery boy. The guy took the money and left. No sir! Not even a word about 3 rupee change.

3    Once travelling in a city bus, the conductor in the bus told me that I can take the 8 rupees in change the ‘next time’ I board the same bus. How kind of him. But how will I find the same bus in 1000s of other buses in the city is a still a riddle to me.

The worst part is – you cannot, you just cannot ask for the change. Because if you do, you are labelled as cheap. People in the city bus stare at me if I ask for my own change. Grocery store owners talk to me with contempt once they come to know that I won’t take a candy for the change they owe me. Nobody wants to talk about the change they have to give me back.

I beg of these people to watch and study share markets, US economy news, Euro zone crisis, recession, inflation and everything that is making me poorer and give me back my change. This Diwali, with Goddess Lakshmi as my witness, I took an oath to always ask for my change. I don’t care if it is humiliating to ask my own money back. I don’t want that extra five star with the Sneakers. I just want my change back!

When I was little, I used to maintain a piggy bank where I used to store all the change that I got from the once honest shop owners.  And whenever it was full I used to break it with anticipation, counting how much money I had collected. And it used to be sufficient to buy unlimited candies. Now there is no piggy bank. All that is left is a bank and a credit card which I use to avoid being robbed of any change only to look with the same anticipation and a little dread at my credit card bills.

It’s been years now since I last held that shining one rupee coin or a little heavy five rupee coin. But I often wonder that if I don’t have change, if my friends don’t have it and the shopkeepers don’t have it then who owns the change that all of them owe me. I promise, anyone telling me where my change is will get all the change owed to him. So, here is to bringing about that change because change is our wallet’s right and we shall have it.

Flyting too high – Flying a little too low

There are two things I see every day:

1.       The standoff between KFA and its employees on the overdue payment of salaries in the daily newspaper.

2.       A huge poster of Siddharth Mallya smiling sheepishly out of a ‘Hunt for Kingfisher Calendar Girl’ poster.

KFA (Kingfisher Airlines) was a birthday gift from Vijay Mallya to his son Siddharth. And he has managed to do what every kid in the block would do with his birthday gift- flaunt it to his friends, play with it and then utterly bored let it rot in a corner. The interesting fact in this case being that both father and son happily played with it and then decided to take a vacation on some exotic island.

Vijay Mallya, without any doubt, is quite an icon. With his flashy lifestyle, Nirma washed white jackets and scantily clad girls giggling around him, he has been able to do what no Aditya Birla or a Ratan Tata could ever achieve – gain a paparazzi. And his son followed right into the big and hairy footsteps of his father by dating a super model actress and going right ahead and kissing her during an IPL match. Now this begs me to reminisce the news I read a couple of years ago. Remember ‘Operation Majnu’ in U.P. where girls and boys were rounded up by police and beaten up for being ‘indecent’. I am sure some policemen watching that match might have realized that the suave Mr. Mallya Jr. is quite some ‘Majnu’ himself.

I must tell you that I, along with a lot of 20s something sincerely revere Mr. Mallya Sr. for his contribution to the liquor industry by making some of the cheapest brands in alcohol and making all of us falling in love with the Kingfisher bird on their logo. Some of us even went ahead and sang songs of merriment which went like ‘Oo La La La La Le E O’ (Or was It.. Le Le Lo!). We were hurray to the king of good times till he was serving us some cheap and nice beer. But then one day, probably Lord Brahma appeared in Mr. Mallya’s dreams and he got all sober and started buying air planes. The next day to reaffirm his devotion he bought some cars and called them ‘Force India’. And just the other day he bought a cricket team with some cheerleaders and pit girls who came free of cost because Virat Kohli was playing for them.

In the mean time, when he was busy buying all these stuffed toys for himself and his son, he forgot that he had also hired a staff that he has to pay. It was a sad day when the wife of one of his employee committed suicide after the KFA fiasco due to enormous economic constraints. It was sadder that Mallya Jr. decided to tweet about his bikini volleyball match on the same day. I am sure that the combined cost of travel and living expenses of father-son duo would have been sufficient to feed that family for atleast a month. But obviously there is no time to ponder over these facts when there is an F1 race coming.

“No one likes him but everyone wants to live like him,” said one admirer. I agree. Who wouldn’t want to live like him. When you have a personal yacht, a jet and numerous properties all around the world, you would be envied and looked up to. Though today, it is an entirely different situation when the people looking up at him are ones who have not been paid by him for last 7 months. Their condition is desperate. Many had to move their families because they could not afford the expenses. Many had to re-register their kids in different schools. And where is Mr. Mallya all along? You and I can only guess..

 You can enjoy the vacations Mr. Mallya Sr. and Jr. and being citizens of this great nation where the rich remain rich, we know that you will pour Champaign on Kingfisher calendar launch for years to come but remember that that one Champaign could have saved the life of that unfortunate woman whose husband was a little more unfortunate to be employed by you. He lost his job and then his wife. Bad times have just begun I guess. Not for you, obviously.

An Open Letter to Mr. Arvind Kejriwal

Keeping up with the trend of writing open letters to ‘celebrities’, here is an open letter to Mr. Kejriwal.

Dear Mr. Kejriwal,

I must begin by saying that unlike you I do not belong to any political party and do not support one as well (both openly and discreetly). I am, much like you, a humble citizen of this great nation who dreams of a united and corruption free India.

Let me also clarify that I used to be a great fan of your’s (and Anna Hazare’s) movement against corruption till I realized that it was becoming an everyday affair for you guys to stage an agitation or sit on a hunger strike. So, like many other enthusiastic youngsters shouting away how they love their country, I too got bored. You, obviously realized to a very thankful stomach of yours that even the public is bored of too many of these strikes and the anti-government agenda. So one fine day, you had a great lunch and called it all off.

In my opinion, the entire Anna Hazare team should be lauded for bringing a social and everyday evil like corruption on the national stage. But one must question, like many a leaders have, where do I stop agitating and do something about it. Because after all we too, the common man (or should I say the Mango people) are involved in this corruption. Don’t we want to pay that extra hundred to a cop to let us go when we cross that signal or a couple of more hundred when we don’t wear our seat belt? Don’t we bribe an RTO officer to push our application on top of the stack? Or don’t we give an expensive gift to that bank employee when we want a loan approval?

Mr. Kejriwal, since I am a common man like you and Mr. Prashant Bhushan, believe me I am not concerned if Kalmadi is swimming in crores of rupees or if A. Raja allocated some spectrum (my phone bills are still same) or if Kanimozhi bought her way out of jail. Yes, it hurts me to see these people I have chosen to power behaving irresponsibly but then you see, Mr. Kejriwal, I had no option. It was either Congress or BJP or some other obscure regional party. It was like taking a pick from Mayawati or Mulayam and Karunanidhi or Jayalalitha. And you might just whisper it in hushed voices and never say it aloud, but all these parties are full of corrupt people. So, I thought let me vote Congress and see if they can do better. Sadly, they couldn’t.

It is then that people like you – educated, good orators and people with a will to change the society decide to form political parties. If you notice the fathers of our political movement, leaders like Pt. Jawahar Lal Nehru or Sardar Vallabhai Patel, they too dreamt of a great nation and formed political parties without realizing that it would take just 60 years to turn that nation into a market of corrupted politicians. Still I would respect them as politicians because they had a broad and vast horizon of thinking and planning. But Mr. Kejriwal, I am sure you realize that there are scores of other problems plaguing this great nation and corruption is just one amongst them. How do you expect me to find a leader in you when you have no say in any other matter besides corruption. Why don’t you talk about Kashmir issue, Telangana issue or say the FDI or how do you plan to improve the educational system in India or how would you bring about health care reforms. All you do is go around Delhi protesting with people who are now equally jobless.

You, Mr. Kejriwal, along with Mr. Bhushan decide to talk about one Robert Vadra. Again, you have to trust me, I don’t care about Vadra or his dealings with DLF and you know why? Because LPG prices just got inflated by Rs. 11. And that is a bigger concern for me and mango people. But let’s say, you have our best interest at heart and you want to save tax payer’s money (Please note that ‘Mango people’ are creating fake identities to save taxes from government and this is just one way they are duping on the taxes), then why in the world do you wait for a day to reveal that ‘extra information’ that you have. It prompts me to question your motive. Is it sensationalism in the media you want to create or are you just playing with our minds? Do you want to say, “Let these guys wait for a day. Let them churn their brains before I make my grand revelation infront of the lenses.” Well, let me congratulate you because you have achieved exactly what you wanted - create a national celebrity out of you.

You have a vision of a great nation Mr. Kejriwal. Don’t let it be obscured in petty media gimmicks because I am sure you know that there are people sitting on hunger strikes in North East who don’t make a huge cry about it. There was also, recently a sadhu who died on the bank of Ganges trying to protest against the impurities the mango men dump in it every day. The government did nothing in their case as well. But has it done anything in yours? Those people atleast did not make a fool of themselves by calling off the hunger strike and then forming a political party. They died for their cause, sir. Please take a moment and let it sink in.

I am sure you are not offended by me calling the people of India (including me) as mango men. It might be a slang for some but for me it is a namesake. We are all so seasonal and we so depend on some good rain, in the end just to be eaten by animals or if we are lucky an educated man who will peel us before eating.

Regards,

A Mango Man

Understanding Dudes - Dudism, its origin and ethnic culture

Yesterday night I was enjoying a quite stroll with Nimmo who was busy contemplating the jewelery she would want to wear at her sister's wedding while I was busy thinking of loans or better – suicide. Nimmo was saved of an early widowhood by a boy shouting over to his friend, 'What the f*** dude'. Unfazed by the use of a swear word, the other youth promptly replied, 'Dude! What the f***'. And deeming the conversation over, zipping their leather jackets they both rolled away on their bikes, leaving me impressed with this new form of conversation which was not only short and crisp but also let people swear others without any harm meant or done.


Keeping the idea of suicide on hold for a while (it was still 6 months for my sister-in-law's wedding), I followed up on swear words with a meticulous research on the subject and found that what I was looking at is not just an art of conversation as I had initially thought but infact a society now gaining popularity after years of torture, social trauma, injustice and sub domination. Little did I know that my misadventure was leading me directly into the world of – the mighty and revered – 'The Dudes'.


With the help of Ballu's son Bittoo who turned out to be a self-confessed converted dude, I delved deeper into their world and secrets and was mesmerized by the organizational structure of the dudes community. Bittoo, who preferred being called by his dude name – Hunter, was more than willing to share with me the secret and then if found eligible, convert me to dudism as well.


As it turns out, an aspiring dude should have the following characteristics in order to be referred as a true dude: a) A goti mustache just below the lower lip b) a torn jeans that always threatens to slip below the hip showing off unwashed boxers and c) atleast one 'f' word in every 3 sentence. These characteristics mixed with some chronic disorders of unkempt hair filled with lice, uncanny habit of not bathing for a week and sudden impulses of forming a rock band, together promise the making of a complete dude – since 1825.


Though now seen in huge numbers in the metropolitan areas wandering road sides or roaming in malls with dazed eyes and no specific purpose, dudism is infact a very old religion which was curbed by years of so called reformist propaganda. Those of us fortunate enough to study the dude lore can tell you that the first signs of dudism can be traced back to Mahabharata and it is often said that Duryodhana was the first dude to be born in India. Now a deity of the dudes, Duryodhana set an example for everyone by going almost pinto infront of his mother and hurling abuses at Krishna, as Hunter very proudly recalls reading from their sacred text – 'Ddudo Nahao Ddudo Phalo'. Dushasana, following the large and ugly footsteps of his brother was the first converted dude who tried, unsuccessfully, to convert Draupadi into a dudette. Dude historians however argue that Draupadi, owing to her husband management skills, was infact a dudette in disguise. The legend was famously depicted in the screenplay – A Very Dirty Picture.

During my extensive travels over the past few months, I met dudes from all over the country, fraternizing with them and understanding their culture. I found that though some typical qualities are spread across India, every region has its own kind of dudes. The dudes from Chandigarh are often adrenaline high and would jump on any occasion to do the most dim witted thing in the world because its 'Oye Cool Oye.'. The Delhi dudes on the other hand have recently devised a new language called 'Hinglish'. They often revert to this language to hide their inadequacies at English which according to them is 'Nahin yaar. This is not so cool yaar.'. Rajasthani dudes are the simplest of them all. They are all just Rajasthan Royal fans, though they deferred from choosing Duryodhana as their lord, choosing Shilpa Shetty instead - to symbolize dudette power. Anyone doing a Lux Cozi adverisement is a dude in Mumbai with all the links you need to become a penniless homeless model (or did anyone say gay?). In Southern parts of India, anyone with a good pelvic muscle which can be gyrated to and fro and misunderstood for being a dance can call himself a dude (Mind it!). Sadly, all the dudes in UP and Bihar have been killed either by the mafia or in a covert operation by Shiv Sena. “We won't let the most awesome dudes come from this region. Jai Maharashtra.”, they said in unison.

Bittoo a.k.a. Hunter also introduced me to his Holiness Monty-IV in my search for spiritual guidance under the laws of dudism. His Holiness, sitting on a red Harley Davidson very calmy told me, “Dude, A true f**kin' dude always remembers to love three f**kin' thin' – mah hair, mah i-pod and mah gal”. The “gal” sitting behind him cried in exclamation, “Mah Hero!”. Somehow I had a sudden urge to use the bathroom and puke. Sitting in the bathroom with no one around to disturb my thoughts, I let my thought wander around to the things I had observed over the past few months.


I summarized that dudes were the coolest people in the world. For one thing, almost every dude is a rock fan. And rock is always cool, isn't it? As a part of 'dude induction training', every aspiring dude is instructed to read, learn and appreciate every rock musician in the world. They also have to undergo a daily head banging therapy which is the only way to get lice out of your hair. Bathing is obviously not an option even for an aspiring dude. Bathing would be so uncool for a rock fan. A dude is supposed to be cool. So he doesn't mind his jeans wearing off from the bottoms or his Metallica t-shirt not being laundered for over a century. A dude is so cool he never bothers himself with issues like Lokpal and Black money. “Whatever,” said Hunter when he saw Prashant Bhushan argue why CBI should come under Lokpal ambit. But Anna Hazare was offered an honorary doctorate on dudism for being on stage more than Jim Morrison which he politely refused.


“A dude is so cool that I want to be a dude as well,” I decided. Flush.


I felt a complete dude (since 1825) sitting in my sister-in-law's wedding. I had given up the plan to commit suicide which was deemed as an undudely act by His Holiness Monty-IV. Instead, I bought a guitar, messed up my hair a little and sold my Maruti 800 to buy an Avenger. Touching my goti beard, I noticed the crowd around me. Many relatives and aunties had cried in shock when they saw me in a leather jacket, a chain hanging out of my rugged jeans getting off my brand new bike. But then - what did these people know about coolness. Sitting in a corner, I saw a few girls with colored hair, black nail paint and heavy mascara around their eyes. Definitely dudettes, I mused. I looked for Nimmo. She was probably away chatting with some aunties. I winked at the dudette with blue hair. She smiled. A dude always gets the “gal”. God bless the dudes.




Disclaimer: This post is just intended at humor and not to hurt any person's, religion's or region's sentiments. Please let me know if you have any objections to this post.

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.

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.

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...

No More VIT

May 25’ 2010 15:45 P.M., Vellore, Tamil Nadu:


I saw a group of boys and girls laughing over something. I couldn’t help it any longer. I went up to them and said, “You guys planning to become engineers?”

“Yes. Why?”, a dude among them asked.

“Think again! Because this”, I said pointing towards my own self, “is what an engineer looks like.” Sun-burns all over my face, melting each second with heat and sweat and with a degree in hand, I left the college forever.

The final review was fine. Both my internal and external examiner were very nice and the college management very helpful and understanding with everything. I presented a very compact but interactive PPT and they looked happy. An easy picture to everything except…

The temperature at Vellore was touching 45 degree Celsius. It is impossible to explain just in words how I walked carrying a laptop, 3 reports and folder from K-block to Main building and then back fetch the presentation, Main building to SJT then back because I didn’t take internal’s signature then back to SJT and from there to K-block and then back to Main gate to fetch my train to Bangalore for which I didn’t have the reservation.

Now only the people from VIT can realize the logistics of the distance between MB and SJT and K-block in the heat of Vellore. I didn’t have the chance to say good-bye to anyone. Not even to my few friends who were there at that time. I didn’t get the chance to say good-bye to my home for 4-years, my college, my VIT. I didn’t have the chance to reflect all the wonderful time I had had there.

I am in the train to Bangalore standing for the rest of the journey, looking outside at the setting sun and thinking…Did I, after all this time, emerge victorious as an engineer? And I answer myself…Only time will tell.

Reflecting Mirrors

I have decided to add, besides stories the things that I notice and observe in my day to day life and the events that leave me thinking...

Recently our chairman (from U.S.) visited the Indian branch of the company. The cafeteria was wiped crystal clean for his arrival and every little detail was studied before he addressed us in the auditorium. I don’t complain. He is the chairman after all.

I went for the breakfast early that day in fear that they might not even allow me to enter later (That, fortunately didn’t happen which made me realize that even I am important now). Sitting there, eating a helpful amount of idly and sambhar, I noticed some gentlemen in black and blue suits (total management style) having English breakfast.

These gentlemen, I noticed had an air of authority you see in very few people. But then I noticed a guard in a blue uniform and wearing an immaculately trimmed moustache (he was probably told to make an impression on Chairman’s visit who wouldn’t even notice him).

This particular guard noticed the gentlemen in coats, bent his back a little in show of respect and said something to them to which one of the person waved a hand. The guard looked like he had found a treasure. Sitting far away, quietly observing this scene (I get very bored having sambhar everyday), I saw the guard running.

The guard ran towards the water cooler and fetched the gentlemen water one after the other with the content smile of having finally achieved something in his life. Though I don’t know the gentlemen or the guard in question, I had these few questions in mind:

Q. What is a guard’s job? Security or fetching water?

Ans: In India, a guard has to perform any work he is assigned. Even if the gentlemen had asked him to clean their shoes, he would have to do it because it’s his job.

Q. Why did getting water for the gentlemen make him so happy?

Ans: The possible explanation could be the feeling of self-importance. Or may be the poor guy hadn’t seen anyone in suits before because people in suits are generally found behind glass cabins or in sedan

Q. What have we reduced ourselves to?

Ans: For something very trifle as self-importance, promotions or ambition we have reduced ourselves to laborers in the hand of select few. Here I do not say that a particular work is menial but I just that I reflected that infact every work is just equivalent. In some manners, I and we are not different from the guard in the blue dress.

Q. Am I any different from that guard?

Ans: I have been asking myself the same question again and again. I suggest you try it once as well.

Q. Who is wrong? The guard or the gentlemen with waving hands?

Ans: I believe none of them are wrong. It is the stigma to perform and being important that makes all of us wrong somewhere or the other.

(Probably the most important question I asked myself that fateful day) : Why was I eating sambhar everyday?

Ans: No comments.

After this brain-storming, I shrugged, finished idly-sambhar and went back to working on the code.

Disclaimer: Our honorable chairman (who is infact a very dedicated person) and the gentlemen in suits have nothing to do with this brain-storming.

My Daily Routine!

6:25 A.M. - First Alarm of a sequence of alarms and first curse of a sequence of curses.

6:35 A.M. – Imagine a world without clocks and alarms.

6:40 A.M. - Remember the horrible face of the Boss and wake up.

6:45 A.M. – Sitting in the loo think how beautiful it would be if one could sleep again.

6:55 A.M. – Ah! Flush!!

7:00 A.M.– While bathing, try and struggle reaching all parts of the body.

7:15 A.M. – Smell the shirt (make a ‘who-cares’ face), remember the boss’s secretary (make a ‘I do care’ face) and put a lot of perfume.

7:30 A.M. – Re-evaluate the face in the mirror. Smile a little. Think something on the lines of ‘You-

Handsome-Little-Thing’ or ‘Perfect-10’.

7:45 A.M. – Board the bus and start shaking. Rub the hips with strangers (all men).

8:10 A.M. – Reach the office and remove the clutter from previous days.

8:20 A.M. – Have a delicious south Indian breakfast (Idly and sambhar, dosa and sambhar or vada and sambhar). Remember mom and aloo parathas (with parathas in prominence).

9:00 A.M. – Walk infront of boss’s office, make a silent prayer, give a weak smile to the secretary (who winks as if this is going to be the best day in the world) and go inside.

NOTE: In general interest I am not writing the constitutionally incorrect language that my boss uses for the next half an hour after which his wife (presumably) calls him and he makes a gesture with hand that I chose to interpret as dismissed.

9:30 A.M. – Emerge from the office with nothing to say to secretary who looks expectantly for a little gossip.

10:00 A.M. – Imagine the boss drowning in his own tea cup and various other violent things causing possible hazards to him.

12:00 Noon – Go for lunch. Eat rice and sambhar and wonder why I was ever born.

12:30 P.M. – Talk to girlfriend, listen to how her make-up went all wrong today and discuss why Loreal is a better brand than Garnier.

1:00 P.M. – Try to imagine a girlfriend-without-misery. Impossible to even imagine.

1:15 P.M. – Stop imagining and return to reality. Analyze the pending work.

1:30 P.M. – Chat with friends how Rajasthan should suck at IPL.

3:00 P.M. – Try not to fall asleep out of complete boredom.

3:20 P.M. – Enjoy the free coffee and samosa and discuss how the company should provide free kachori as well.

4:00 P.M. The wait begins.

5:00 P.M. The wait ends. Leave the office.

5:30 P.M. Start shaking in the bus again.

6:00 P.M. Sleep.

8:30 P.M. Have dinner (something with sambhar). Wish there were no taste buds in the tongue anymore.

9:00 P.M. Start writing the blog no one reads.

11:00 P.M. Wish it was Sunday tomorrow and sleep.

The UnderWorld

The problem I am going to discuss with you today, is far reaching than the misery of inflation, a problem that has captured the imagination of every house-hold in the world, a problem that consumes us more than the rising oil prices and a problem that could easily change the very face of earth and humanity all together. And this very grave problem that we all have encountered atleast once in a lifetime of worthlessness is – ‘A Cockroach’.

It’s been years since ‘The Great War of Roaches’ was fought in my house and it was during those perilous times that I learnt many valuable lessons about cockroaches which I am going to share with you today, free of cost and labor. During the early periods of Great War, I was given the responsibility of murdering those very unfriendly looking, hideous creatures while my mother tried to intoxicate them with some poisonous spray.

Recent studies and my deep analysis on this topic reveals that a cockroach could have been really cute had it not decided to part ways with its distant cousin – ‘The Mighty Crocodile’ who is rather very charming in his own special way as many of my friends (who later ended up in it’s not very friendly stomach) told me.

Cockroaches can now be found in every slimy corner of a house in all proportions of ugliness. But, though ugly, a cockroach is a very smart creature. Millions of years of perils have taught them the espionage techniques against the human race. Very minutely, I noticed that a cockroach has the unusual habit to turn upside down as soon as you try to kill it. It will always try and seduce you with it’s 8-pack oozy stomach and fine-polished tentacles. The virtue of patience was also learnt during those times. Cockroaches, which are very much into modern arts of yoga and meditation can pretend to be dead for hours. When finally you throw them out, they would simply turn over, show you a middle finger and find a way back into your closet.

The Great War was lost but a recent James Bond flick inspired me to launch my own offensive. I decided to spy on the formidable enemy myself. I used my charm to befriend a very sweet and good-looking female roach – Tim-Tim who, as it turned out was also former ‘Miss Roachistaan’. Over an exotic dinner of stale bread and rotten tomatoes she told me an ancient secret well kept by their ancestors for over a million of years which, though under oath from Tim-Tim, I am going to share with you now.

The forbidden secret is that of a daily (read deadly if your specific parts don’t work in right order) fest known as the ‘The Great Carnival of Fornification’. This great Carnival is the ‘milan’ of underground civilizations where giant societies of cockroaches, rats and various pests assemble for a common cause – ‘Family Planning’. “Hum Do Hamare Emm… Who Cares” seems to be the spiritual motto as it is during these times of joy and drunkenness that male and female roaches ‘socialize’ to do something which can be closely related to an activity we don’t tell our children when they ask us how they were born. They even got the name for this sacred sport – ‘The Holympic Marathon of Reproduction’ where scores of rats and roaches compete everyday to find who has actually ‘got it’.

A cockroach, among its various other ‘virtues’, also has a very sweet voice. Together with frogs they have this habit of giving background music during very romantic conversations happening in beautiful gardens, as a very pretty girl once told me during such a conversation. Indeed, I meditated, a roach has the capability of producing sounds stranger than Himesh Reshamiya and if you listened very closely you could even hear extracts of Anu Malik in it.

Though many above the surface are not aware, cockroaches played a bigger role in our freedom movement than we choose to remember today. When hordes and hordes of European cockroaches were marching inland, our own breed of ‘Gandhi-following-roaches’ launched a country-wide Satyagraha against them. These moderate peace-loving roaches would often march in thousands towards British houses and would often scare the hell out of oh-so-sophisticated British house-maids and later happily sacrificed their own life. More on the extremists side roaches fought with the elite British roaches. It is rumored that some roaches even participated in the round table conference in London. Detailed proofs of Panditji himself honoring these brave cockroaches could be found at the ‘Rust-Library’ of ‘Roachistaan’.

I have come to love and respect Cockroaches and when lonely, I often wished Tim-Tim was unmarried and though polyandry is not an issue for them, I was in no mood to upset General Jham Jham. I also considered the fact that inter-species romance could sometimes be, well, very hybrid.

My report on cockroaches was well received by both my family and the roaches and the long awaited peace treaty was signed with the General (with Tim-Tim very glad in the background). I was even offered the Kut-Kut-Nobel peace prize which I very humbly accepted. A huge extravaganza was held in my honor in the city of ‘Roachistaan’. My mother, on her part accepted not to use the environment unfriendly and cockroachically hazardous spray and in turn the roaches agreed to be found in the kitchen whenever ‘unwanted relatives’ decided to show up for dinner.

Sara came to my house today. We were there, sitting in my bedroom when she suddenly shrieked, held my hand and jumped all over me. She kept hugging me and shrieking, hugging and shrieking. But then, who cared for the latter. From the corner of the room Tim-Tim winked at me and I gave her a thumbs-up. It was our own little agreement. Life is very good sometimes.

BUY-CYCLE

People now a days have found a new pass-time in the form of debating – there is the ‘rising food and petrol prices’ debate of the ‘common man’, the ‘Women’s Reservation Bill’ debate of the Parliament, ‘Will the world end someday soon’ debate on IndiaTV. But one debate that caught my eye and in my opinion is much above the ideas of national and social interest is – ‘what to really call this present generation’ debate.

In recent history, people of various social standards who have no other better work to do, have debated on the status of the present Indian generation. They have come up with names like – Gen-X, Gen-Y, Gen-Rowdy, Gen-Useless etc. Since I realized that I neither have a social standard nor any better work to do, I should come up with one common thing that could define the entire generation of India and eventually turned up with the name that I am sure is going to change the way we look at the youngsters in India. Hence, I proudly present to you what I call, the Generation – F.

Even Ballu didn’t understand the meaning of my research and study. But then Ballu was always more interested in food than any research. Since you people look more interested (this I gather from the fact that you are still reading inspite of my bad English), I had like you to perform a simple but effective test to better understand what I mean by Gen-F.

Step1: Stand in-front of a full length mirror.
Step2: Stop admiring your face.
Step3: Look at your stomach.
Step 4: Try to conceal the horrid expression on your face realizing how fat you are.
Step 5: If you still think that by Gen-F, I mean ‘Generation-Facebook’ then repeat Step 3 and Step 4.

After a long session with the mirror, recurring steps of looking at your tummy and constant denials you will, like poor Ballu, realize that you, like million other Indians, belong to the ‘Gen-Fat’.

It has been a tradition in India, politically motivated by relatives and neighborhood aunties to call a child healthy only if he is the size of a small baby elephant. If they had their way, they would change the definition of ‘healthy’ from 8-pack to 1-large-sack.

Marriages, I have come to understand are the biggest sources of food for the entire Indian Gen-Fat. Marriage is one place where even the size zero freaks would lose self control simply because everything is free. The families in India are sometimes so huge, that you have the chance to grab some free marriage meal almost every weak. Mothers would specifically instruct their children to eat everything they can. You can even find there the grandmothers, who have been instructed by the doctor, sneaking away a cup or two of ice-creams. Just who said that nothing comes for free?

Ballu often used to say that he never exercised because he was worried, like many plump people that increased physical activity might increase his appetite. I was horrified by even the idea of increasing his appetite. I mean the guy was already half the size of Khali. But when I searched the topic on Internet, I found that a controlled study of overweight individuals did not reveal a proportionate increase in appetite with exercise, lending support to the positive role of physical activity in reaching the goal of a negative Caloric balance and resulting weight loss. Ballu, however didn’t understand a single word I said (The problem with Ballu was that he only understood things that revolved around food or similar content).

There are many small and big problems that form the part and parcel of being fat. People get tired easily now a days, they feel old at a very young age, fat people complain about rising oil prices the most because they do not want to use the power of their fat legs to walk even small distances, there are the heart problems, sugar and various other medical terms that I chose, long ago, not to learn. Also, I wouldn’t want to give you an early heart-attack by giving you the statistics of people dying of heart diseases in India (dare Google it huh?). You wouldn’t believe that people are actually having kids sooner than they had planned because they are not sure if they are going to live long enough to see them getting fat! (Please don’t believe that. Because of the anti-social element that I am, I made it up)

Well! as pessimistic as it may sound and as optimistic as we may want to be, it is a hard reality that we must gulp down our throats like poison – WE ARE FAT and we are getting fatter day after day - using our big sedan just to impress neighbors, sitting in office (mostly lazing around and chatting) and lying on sofa watching IPL. Ballu, meanwhile, sitting in the heavens, cursing his wife why she cooked such wonderful ‘parathas’, must be wondering why I didn’t write this article earlier. My dear friend, that’s because I never liked you anyways and had a little crush on your wife as well. For all you guys still reading this article please follow the advice Baba Ramdev forgot to give (because he was busy shaving) – BUY CYCLE.