A Night Trek | Kaurava Kunda | 12-April-2014

NOTE: Pictures will follow soon! 

Some time back, I saw ‘Yeh Jawani Hai Deewani’ and that closed the deal. In the movie, a nerdy looking girl goes on a trek to Himalayas and meets a group of people that changes her life and in the process she rediscovers herself. As the movie ended with yet another cliché teary eyed Bollywood ending, I was certain that rediscovery or not – I had to go trekking. Freedom is after all not reality, it is, like any other story an idea that enters your head like a happy bug and then stays there.

And so I registered myself on Bangalore Trekking Club (BTC) ® (http://www.bangaloretrekkingclub.com/) and started looking for a Beginner’s trek which would not take me away from work and yet provide that necessary thrill of a journey worth remembering. And then there it was – A night trek to Kaurava Kunda, near Chikaballapur which is a small town 75 km away from Bangalore. I had never heard of the place or the trekking range, but how does it matter for a first time trekker like me, I thought and gave it a go.

It was the evening of 12^th April 2014, when it started raining in Bangalore and checking the weather conditions, I saw a storm at Chikballapur late in the night. I called up the organizers and found they knew their stuff and had contingency plans in case of emergency. That put my mind at ease. With no previous experience, I carried some basic stuff like Sleeping Bag, a torch (a must for night trek), energy bars, juice and lots of water. ‘And let the journey begin,’ a little unsure me told myself as I boarded the bus to Bangalore bus stand near Majestic.

Meeting new people can be unnerving for some, especially for people who spend almost the entire day coding their life out on a computer. But that was the beauty of this plan – to bring in a few people who are wrecked with their monotonous week and spend some time getting to know and hopefully make friends with new people. And though I met everyone at the bus stand and all looked forthcoming, I had my reservations on travelling without some common friends. It was all about to change.

We started our journey at 8 PM. We made small talk with each other on the way to Chikaballapur. Some guys who already knew each other from previous trek @BTC were very obviously much more comfortable in their zones. But Anshul had pointed out that there would be introductions later – ‘So don’t worry,’ he said which I later found was his favourite dialog.

Chikaballapur is a small district about 75km from Bangalore, which can be reached easily through a KSRTC bus. The journey takes about 1.5 hours and takes you through Hebbal-airport road. Due to traffic, we reached the town at about 10 in the night and started walking towards the foothills of Kuarava Kunda which is about 5km from the town. The road took us to the outskirts and into the villages. In a secluded corner, we all were told to stop for introductions. One by one, under Ramya’s glaring torch into our eyes, everyone introduced themselves and then recounted their previous experiences trekking with BTC. The surprise of the party was Kishore who turned out to be a professional singer and was aiming for World Record in balancing certain things on his nose and chin, skills which he demonstrated as well.

As the night fell and moon shone bright in the west, we reached the foothills of Kaurava Kunda between sleeping villagers and barking dogs. The hill looked a little formidable and mysterious in the night but that added to our already enthused adventurous spirit and we began our ascent to the summit.

One funny feature of this ascent were the over enthusiastic tail wagging dogs who decided to accompany us on the hilly trail right up to the top. It was funny because the guys decided to have a go at Garima who was very vocal about her fear of dogs. I guess the dogs too conspired with everyone to give everyone a good laugh. But frankly even I was not very fond of this idea of dogs chasing us around on a hill top (Alright! I was scared too!)

From the foothills, there are steps leading to the Shiva temple. This part of the trek was fairly simple and everyone decided to take a break here. Someone among the group wondered why this place was called Kaurava Kunda and we got some pretty hilarious and historically incorrect replies. Basically nobody knew. But who cares till you having a good laugh.

The organizers at BTC were very understanding when it came to people like me and few others who were trekking for the first time. ‘We will take 100 breaks, if you ask us to,’ Virander told us.

From Shiva temple we began a much more arduous journey over steep slopes and rocky terrain. Everybody was helping everybody and that made the bond even stronger. It was an example of true team spirit and accolades to BTC for bringing out the best in everybody. We collected twigs and dried branches on the way anticipating a bon-fire at the top.

We reached the top at about 1:30 in the morning. Sometimes in life, you put everything into perspective. But before all of that, you take a massive leak! Alright, no crude details from here on.

I will give the perspective in the last paragraph because right now more important things first – Maggi. We all sat down with our cup noodles in hand as the organizers set up the fire and boiled water. We put on our jackets and in the mean tried to keep the dogs at bay who wanted a piece of everything we were trying to eat.

Someone was definitely making notes on ‘first timers’ with BTC because as soon as we finished our Maggi noodles, people cried out dance and there we were – the ‘first timers’ who had to showcase their dancing talent. Well, as always I danced on item numbers only! ‘Sheela Ki Jawani’ is a must if I am dancing. Then there was Chikni Chameli by Garima, Lungi dance by Virander and Swati. And a cool performance by Kishore (is there anything this guy doesn’t do). And then everybody in the group joined in to shake some legs.

We then settled down in a circle around the camp fire and discussed the most famous topic in the world - our first crush/love. Ramya had a very funny story to tell about Complan boys. Everybody spoke with an air of nostalgia of ‘those days’ when we were young (some only 3^rd standard). Nobody got sentimental, thank god. But amazing stories were told – some funny, some heart breaking and some just downright cute.

At about 4 AM, Ankit prepared some awesome coffee. It is called ‘Ankit Special Coffee’. One of the secret ingredients in this coffee was – believe it or not - salt. But it was amazing. Standing on the top of a hill - with chilly winds blowing away - having a coffee at 4 in the morning. There are only few things in the world that can beat that.

We talked some more, while some people (Yes Virander – You!) slept.

In the morning, we were greeted by a beautiful view of the city. People decided to go to the edge and enjoy the scenic view. Almost everyone cried out when we saw the sun rising above the horizon in the east. It was bright, it was orange, it was majestic.

Channa, you have clicked some of the most amazing morning pictures I have ever seen. He went to immense pains to get that right shot while everybody posed with the rising sun.

The descent was quick and uneventful. It is important to keep track of your foot while descending because there is a lot of loose soil at Kaurava Kunda and hence the needed precaution. Channa made sure he got the right clicks by descending way before us and then calling out with a whistle signalling us to stop and pose.

After a few group pictures at the foothill, we started the long walk back to the bus stand. Abhishek and Swati decided to race to the end and it ended in a close tie but fun to watch. We encountered grape vines and a big well before we decided to stop in the middle of a field and have breakfast. Over some bread/jam, khakra and coconut water, we shared a few laughs before finally reaching the bus stand. I was so relieved that I wanted to die. And then it’s a blur till Bangalore! But what amazing trek, what amazing people and what an amazing night.

So the perspective, an afterthought that, at the end of it all, lives with you all your life.

At 1:30 in the night, we were at the top of the hill. And there I was - you are standing on top of everybody your eyes can see. You are above everyday nuances of life and you are away from the chaos of everyday struggle. You are above the sleeping towns and hollow people. You are above the noise that threatens to burst your ears and smoke that fills your lungs. You are not on top of the world and yet you are. You are not deaf but you let the roar of the wind filter any unwanted sound that troubled you for so long. And here you are, at the summit, drenched in sweat, letting the wind ruffle through you hair, letting it slap your face, letting it drum your ears, letting it fill your nose and letting it touch your soul.

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.

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...