VAW....

2016-12-30T07:31:00.001+05:30

The Tsunami I saw

2015-12-26T11:32:00.001+05:30

It's been more than a decade now.

I am alive.

Seldom I feel closer to death, and back then I did not truly understand what death is. But now I do, and I remind myself of that fateful day where laziness saved my life.

It was Christmas eve of 2004, my parents and bro were watching the awards ceremony on TV. 'And Garnier presents the best actor award goes to. . .', the idiot box was shouting in all its fervor. I was with them, in front of the TV but just not there. I was sleeping in short bursts and was waking up whenever a loud announcement broke my nap.

Mom saw me snoozing, and suggested we all sleep. I dreamily went to my bed and slept off. I had lots to do the other day.

Day broke and I ran to my parent's room and broke the quietness in the house. 'beach! Beach! Marina beach! Wake up dad!', I shouted. Mom woke up startled and nudged herself to sleep when she heard my demand.

Dad opened his one eye sleekly and blabbered, 'alright. Gimme some time. Say an hour'. I shouted, 'you've had 8 hours of sleep already!'

Dad wouldn't budge. Epitome of laziness. He checked his watch and it was 8am. He reset it to 6am, showed it to me and told 'we'll go when the watch shows 8am' and slept off.

I sulkily went back to my room. My bro was sound asleep. He didn't even bother to wake up.

I felt sad that our plan to go to see the morning sun in marina beach will be spoiled. And it was spoiled.

I dozed off to sleep. Mom woke up suddenly and dragged me in front of the TV screen.

'tsunami!'

'unprecedented damage to life and property. Marina beach washed off like it was nothing!'

'earthquake rocked Jakarta, and triggered killer waves which swept off land in coastal Tamil Nadu!'

I was watching it all unfold, right in front of my eyes. I wondered why the same guy in yellow tee was getting washed off again and again. Images were shown again, videos were played in an endless loop. I didn't know what this was. Horror.

Dad sprang out of the bed to see what was happening, and when he saw it, he simply sat on the couch. Not sat, gravity and gravitas pulled him.

Townships washed away. Entire districts swept off. Waves higher than multi storey buildings crashing on hapless creatures. It was incredible.

I realized it then. I was supposed to go to Marina beach. We were supposed to go to the beach. We should've been in the beach by now, and I may have been the guy in the yellow tee.

I felt nothing back then. Now I do. I feel strange. I feel guilty of living whenever I remember the time and the day of that year.

I went to the beach again, alright. It was the same old one. It wasn't scarred. It took me in its arms and embraced me softly. It blew Cool air on my face and ruffled my hair. I never liked having my hair ruffled. Yet I chuckled.

You can't possibly fathom what the victims went through, I reminded myself and sat on the beach facing the glistening gray sea.

Life is a Tamasha

2015-12-16T22:04:00.001+05:30

Unfulfilled dreams, facades over facades, and then someone bursts the balloon and you spiral in the air in every possible direction and then fall to the ground -- exhausted, empty, and with a scar.

You all know the story of "Tamasha". Boy grows up listening stories, then realizes that stories are not reality. So, he succumbs to mediocre and blends perfectly as an average working class man. What he does in this pursuit is suffocate his childhood, his dreams, his own voice. For whom? For the one man he wanted to make proud - his father.

Enter the girl who sees the boy in his wildest true self, and promises never to meet again -- after making out. So, years and years later, the girl meets the boy but finds a Product Manager in him instead. Girl rejects Boy's proposal, and that was the needle which burst the boy's balloon. How he picks himself up forms the climax.

Imtiaz Ali has done -- as usual -- a stupendous job out of it, so much so that people went to watch the movie because they saw his name under the "Directed by" tag. Deepika Paadukone (as Tara) is gracious, and Ranbir Kapoor (as Ved) is carrying forward the acting legacy of his ancestors.

Now, myth clearing. Some say Deepika's role is understated. No, it's not. The beauty of her role is that she is omnipresent. Even when not sharing screenspace, she is clearly visible in the angst and frustration of Ved. And yes, Imtiaz devoted enough reel to show how Tara tried to overcome her urge to track down Ved in this wide wide world.

Another myth is that Ved had multiple personality disorder. I thought the same way when I saw the movie, but on closer introspection felt otherwise. How many talk to themselves in the mirror? How many go hysteric sometimes? It's not multiple personality disorder, but the suffocated self trying to vent its agony. Have you never had a day when you were thoroughly angry, yet had to gulp it all and present a pleasant countenance when meeting a guest, and only venting out your accumulated anger on a hapless folk who did something silly - like drop a glass of water.

Ved, in many ways, is like us. We run so blindly chasing dreams, and we don't know what we'll do once we catch one because the dream is not ours but someone else's. It's just that Ved is still in touch with his inner true self, and is trying to make peace with it. But, the inner self doesn't want a compromise. It wants its place back -- which is outside, free, at sync with the world.

The theme of Imtiaz Ali's movies is consistent -- be it Jab We Met, Highway, Rockstar, or Tamasha. Imtiaz aspires the protagonist to discover oneself, love oneself, prove oneself and rise above one's ashes. And A.R. Rehman lends full support to capture the theme and tantalize the listener.

The movie is an eulogy to those who brutally killed their dreams and conformed to the society. Such people are dead the minute their true self dies, they are only buried when they stop breathing.

This movie is also a tribute who braved all odds, even fought themselves to be who they wanted to be. Not everyone can be a zillionaire, but if you are content for even a minute, then that life deserves you.

This movie showed me a brutal mirror. Here's a movie which preaches what I preach and I don't follow the preaching myself. No, I'm not waiting for my Tara to burst my balloon. I'm searching for a needle to do it myself.

Read it? Liked it? Share it with your friends, so others get to read it.

Returning awards?

2015-11-02T13:16:00.001+05:30

One fine day, a child decides to return his award to protest, like the artists and writes did. Will his dad be able to help him out? Read through to find out!

"Daddy, I want to return my Chess Championship award which I got from Principal this year"

"Whoever gave you that idea?"

"News channels. So many artists, filmmakers, writers are returning awards and are getting their share of publicity. I want to be the first school child to return an award"

"So, you're returning award to get publicity? Doesn't sound selfless"

"Oh Ok. I'll say the dialogues they say"

"Which are?"

Clearing throat, "I'm returning the award to protest the growing inn-tolle-rans in the society"

"You meant intolerance?"

"Yes, that's what. Intolerance. And, I am distressed the way in-tell-ummm-chual"

"Intellectual", he whispered

"Intellectual voice is being supp-err"

"ressed. Suppressed."

"That's right. That's what they said"

"Ok, against whom should your protest should be registered?"

"The government"

"Umm, let's have another one. Who is it that perpetrated the violence?"

"Perprepared?"

"Perpetrated -- did the bad deed"

"Oh, the government"

"Are you sure?"

"Ummm, I think it's the people who did the bad deed"

"Korrect. So, against whom should your protest should be registered?"

"The people", came the meek reply.

"But Daddy, why are they returning awards?"

"First have this candy, then I'll tell you the answer", he -- not known to his child -- was enforcing positive behaviour

"The candy is tasty! I've always liked this flavor, thanks! Now, the answer!"

"Yes. The answer. Do you know how the nation functions? Let me help you. First, pick a pen and paper and draw a triangle"

The child fervently drew an oddly huge triangle, covering the entire A4 sheet of paper. He took the paper from his child, drew 3 lines parallel to its base and divided the triangle into 3 sections. It did look a little too big.

"Now, the top of the triangle is the central government which governs the entire nation. Below the central government is the state government. How many states do we have?"

"28!"

"Tch. 29. Which state did you forget?"

"Ummm, Telangana. Yes, it's 29!"

"So we have 29 state governments. The third section of the triangle is the people of the nation. Now, central and state government together govern the nation and it's people. There are some areas where only central government has the right to act, while there are some areas where only state government can act and there are a few areas where both the governments have a fair right to act"

"Too much information daddy! Again."

"Ok ok, I forgot I was talking to a thinking man. Let's rephrase. Central government is like your school principal, while state government is like your subject teacher"

"Wait. Wait. I think I got this. There are areas where subject teacher's decision is upheld, like the marks I receive for my test papers. And there are areas where principal's decision holds prioty --"

"Priority", he whispered.

"I forgot what I was saying! Yes, priority. Like, when to conduct the annual day -- that decision will be taken only by the Principal. And there are areas like conducting competitions where both subject teachers and principal work together!"

"Smart!"

"My candy?"

"You've exceeded your daily quota I'm afraid. But you can take our German Shephard out for a walk. ."

"Deal."

"So, in our country, there is a list which tells what is to be done by whom. Foreign policy, defence, etc. are to be done by Central government. Police, law and order, etc. are to be done by state government"

"Isn't defence and police the same thing?"

"There's a difference. When someone from outside creates trouble and we protect ourselves, that is defence. When someone from inside creates trouble, then it's a police problem"

"I got it a little, but continue"

"No worries. You can ask me anything anytime. So, when any one is killed or hurt or beaten, it is a law and order problem. And, who handles law and order?"

"State government!"

"Korrect. So, what do you understand by this?"

"Those people don't have daddy like I do. They should be returning awards to state government"

"Ummm, not exactly. Tell me, who gave you the prize for chess?"

"Principal"

"And, who judged your game?"

"Examiners were called from outside"

"So, who should you be returning awards to?"

"I don't get it"

"See, a jury and an audience discusses and decides who should be given what award. The central government simply announces the winner and gives that person the award"

"I still didn't get it. Who should they return awards then?"

"To no one. They didn't get awards to protest. They got awards for their work. They got awards so they can be recognized in their field and in the big nation called India. Returning the award is an insult to the jury, the audience, the nation, and their work"

The child sits wide-eyed.

"Listen child, I know why you're confused. How is returning the award an insult to their work? See, they worked hard, did good things and got the award for the hard work and their creation. Right?"

"Riiiggght"

"So, if they return the award aren't they themselves undermining the recognition their creation got? Remember, they got the awards for their work and work alone. Did you get your chess award because you performed well and won or because you're my son or because of your name?"

"I got it because I deserved it. I defeated 16 opponents back to back, I worked hard. How could you say I got it because of my name?", the child was clearly agitated.

"Now you understand. Your chess award is not for you, it is for your hardwork."

"Oh, I get it."

"Anyone can give awards. I can, your principal can. But, who is getting the award? Your hardwork is. Who is collecting the award? You are, for your hardwork. Why do you think they announce in school that "This child got the Chess award for his persistence, hardwork and skill"? Ever thought about it?"

"You make sense.", the child sneered.

"I'm glad you found sense", he kissed his child's forehead.

"So child, tell me. Who are you going to return your award to?"

"No one. The award is not even mine to give. It belongs to my hardwork. But, "

"But, if you're not returning award, then how should you protest? How should those artists protest?"

"You stole my words!"

"I am your daddy for a reason", he chuckles, "Now back to the point. Their work should speak for themselves. If an artist wants to protest, create art to protest! Tel me, how can a writer protest?"

"By writing! A writer got his award because he is good in writing. So, the best way in which he can protest is by writing! He should write and spread the word!"

"How should a filmmaker protest?"

"By making films!"

"How should intellectuals protest?"

"By holding discussions and helping people understand!"

"But, aren't people the ones who do the bad deed?"

"No. Some people do bad deed, and all the people get a bad name. Like in my school, there's a boy who cheated in an exam and got all of us a bad name."

"So, one last one. How should you protest?"

"By playing chess!"

He looked intrigued.

"Ummm, not by playing chess. But. . . Then. . . "

"It's not your business to protest. You can protest when something affects you or the school-children directly. The best thing you can do is to study hard, play harder, and grow up to become a responsible citizen."

"Right. I'll become a responsible citizen, be a part of the administration and strengthen my country!"

"You make sense"

"I'm glad you found sense", the child sneered.

"Look who's stealing words now?", he ruffled his child's hair.

"Ok daddy. I get it. Foreign policy and defence part I'll clarify with you later. My shephard is waiting for a walk."

"Alright. Go have a walk. And you both take care."

"Yessshhhhh daddy!"

I forgot I was an adult

2015-09-02T08:02:00.001+05:30

I was born on this day, 23 years back. And 24 years back, on this day, my parents got into a wedlock. So ya, you can say that God ensured that I never forget my Parent's anniversary. It all started with a 'surprise' cake brought to my home at the stroke of midnight when 27th June ceased to exist and I was officially deemed a birthday boy.

I'll be honest. I slept very early on the 27th, I had a bad headache. Even when my mom woke up and wished me, I had this feeling that somebody was hammering my head from the inside. Then something kicked in. Some chemical 'locha' happened and I decided to outrageously celebrate it. I didn't care about anything: what my mirror would say or what others would say. I put on my tee, and peeped from my room. "I'm waiting for the candles to melt away", I sheepishly announced. Laughter.

I cut the cake, and mom signalled that I give a piece of it to dad. Dad instinctively came forward with an agape mouth. I, very normally and coolly, cut a piece and put it in my mouth. More laughter. Then I obliged my parents. Curiously, nobody smeared my face with the cake. Maybe the cake was really good. It in fact was. So, since I was determined to live it to the fullest, I was showing off my pearly 32 teeth all around and indulging myself in everything which was so-not-me! I thanked the ones who arranged the cake and came to wish me. I answered calls from as far as Kuwait. Yes, my extended family is global. So, of the 24 hours, the first hour was fun.

I woke up around 7am to prepare and be host to a Bhajan program to commemorate my Parent's anniversary. I even sang a Bhajan, you must know that if you are listening to me singing a Bhajan, you are witnessing a rare phenomenon (rarer than people winning lottery tickets). After the program, my friend proposed that we go for a ride to Besant Nagar Beach. Since I was determined to not-be-me, I said a yes and got ready. Mom approved of it, and so did Dad. Off we went with 2 of his friends. We four, went to this 'Broken Bridge', which is a picturesque location. So beautiful, so serene, so calm, so amazing that I forgot I was an adult.

On one side of the broken bridge, a group of guys were jumping off the bridge. A neat 12 feet fall to the grainy sand of the beach. I knew about this thing, but after seeing it, adrenaline started getting secreted from my brain. "Wow man, you totally have to do it!", I heard this from a gust of wind which rustled my hair. "Hey! Just jump and land on my lap!", said the fine sand beneath the bridge. "Oooo. . I so wanna see you jump!", said that beautiful, nifty lady's sunglasses when I glanced at her.

I stepped 4 feet back, like a tiger does before a predatory jump, and ran with all my will, air, and kiddishness. I was airborne for half-a-second. After that I was pulled down by gravity in a neat projectile. Had I had a notebook, I'd have pinpointed my location. There was this friend's friend's cousin's friend who had a DSLR camera and shot me. In all my excitement, I forgot that I had to land on my knees and palms, and not on my legs and buttocks.

Remember the Newton's 3rd Law of motion? Every action has an equal opposite reaction. You kiss a stranger, and you get slapped. You jump traffic lights, and you end up on a stretcher. You land on your buttocks, and your spine goes on vacation. Now, I was being pulled down at 9.8 metres per seconds squared. That's a lot of acceleration. Even a 0.5 feet drop is enough to send you a current down your spine. Now, my drop was 12 feet. My entire weight fell upon my buttocks which was transferred to the sandy ground. Now, that much was only the first part of Newton's 3rd Law. I made an action.

The reaction is yet to come. In that second which when split into microseconds, I saw that my weight was absorbed by the ground and went straight to Pluto! Pluto, as you know is the God of the Underworld. So, Pluto called an emergency meeting of all the Gods of all mythologies. Zeus, Vishnu, Jesus, you name it. Chitragupta, an accountant under Yama (the Hindu God of Death) came and apprised the Gods of my lifestory. After listening to it, Jesus interrupted, "So, he never got a birthday bump?!". "Hmmm, that's sad on my part. He revers me so much and I didn’t to even that to him?", uttered Vishnu. "Can't we poke him with my trident instead?", sneered Zeus. "Too late. He landed on sand, and there's nothing but sand beneath the sandy ground", replied Pluto. So, it was decided by consensus that I'll be given 24 birthday bumps all at once to compensate for all those years without any birthday bumps, and that way even Newton's Laws will remain valid.

Pluto sent my weight back and it hit me. On. My. Buttocks. Now, 5:45:05:02 pm I hit the ground, and 5:45:06:01 pm, the ground hit me. My neck arched backwards as if I was experiencing exotic pleasure. The folks around me were laughing. I heard one of them mutter, "He messed the landing". Now I know. I messed the landing. I laid on the ground like a corpse. I clutched the sand hard to somehow distract my mind from the pain. Even a kiss on my lips wouldn't have distracted my mind. It was so focused, so concentrated on my aching spine that it even forgot to do its primal function, to think. I was about to blackout. My throat went dry. Someone asked me, "did you enjoy it?". He wanted to hear "No! That was hell!". I uttered, "Hell yeah!".

It took me 20 minutes to get back on my feet. I was not walking. I was wobbling my way to my friend's bike. At a nearby shop, I drank a litre of water, and noshed on a 5-star. Oh, did I tell you that I didn't have anything for lunch and that I had 2 samosas for breakfast? So, ya, hunger exacerbated the situation. It suddenly struck me that my mom has backache problems. I thought whether her problem is as bad as mine, maybe its worse because I'll be healed in a fortnight whereas she's suffering from it since ages.

This entire incident was an amazing experience for me. On all counts. I realized that I had been strapping myself on a leash far too much, that I had so many unfulfilled wishes that I felt suffocated, that I had a self-made dichotomy inside of me -- like a split personality -- which may burst out at the most unlikely situation, that I need to love myself a little more.

One more thing I realized with my backache. The power of pain. In all its painful, stinging ways, it keeps one sane and aware.

Gone, with wings of fire

2015-07-27T23:40:00.001+05:30

I'll never forget that moment. I was surfing my FB newsfeed when Dad exclaimed, "Kalam no more?"

I rushed out, and was hysterical. I was smirking, my eyes were moist, my legs were giving away, words failed me. 09:02 pm the time was. Words are failing me, as if I were an infant struggling to convey my thoughts. I let the world know what I thought of that moment, and went in recluse in my room. I remembered that I had a book written by Kalam with me. I couldn't remember the name, and I was cursing myself for that. I, I felt guilty that I forgot the name of the book! I ransacked my room to find that one slender book, on the cover of which is a girl with shining eyes. I found it.

I kept that book in front of me, and stared at it. This is my Kalam. Who says Kalam is dead? He is here, with me! "Ignited Minds", his book to the children of India is a singular non-fiction book I read when I was young and was developing an appetite for reading. I opened the book, and there it was. A felicitation written on a piece of paper and stuck on the 2nd page. I had won it at an inter school Elocution Competition on the Children's Day in 2007. It is my prized possession.

Now, I've known Kalam to be an endearing personality. Only after he became the President did the world look up to him and his achievements, and the hardships he went through. You can wiki all of that. But, you can't wiki how he felt when he faced it, and when he conquered it all. Labelled as the "Missile Man of India", this one man morphed the Indian Politics when he was elected indirectly as the President of the Republic of India.

A man of such a stature, that no one dare bad-mouth him. He was a modern Bhishma, and he was a devout Muslim. I've read it somewhere; sweep so well that even the Gods say "Here lived a great sweeper who did his job well". Kalam -- whose name is synonymous with 'Kalam' (pen in Hindi) was true to his name and fame. I went to Rameshwaram for pilgrimage in 2005, and the driver eagerly let us know that Kalam's house is nearby. My parents and my relatives shrugged to the idea of visiting his house, I insisted.

One would've thought that the President of India's house would at least be painted well. There it was, a rusted green fenced door which guarded the family of the 1st Citizen of India. Strangely, and honestly, I did not expect a bungalow of a house. And, my expectations weren't hurt. I just stood there for a while, emulating it, staring at it. I didn't even knock on the door. I didn't need to.

I'd have read "Ignited Minds" for a good 3 times I guess. I'll be reading it again tonight. I'm feeling lost. I'm feeling alone. I need Kalam with me. I seldom cry, I seldom cry.

Then I saw this movie titled "I am Kalam", and it told the story of a poor kid who names himself Kalam and wishes to be like Kalam. He adopts his hairstyle, his ways, and studies by hook or crook. He even hitch-hikes his way to the Rashtrapati Bhavan to deliver a hand-written letter to His Excellency. I watch that movie -- that movie with all fantastical elements -- and I feel part of it. How I wish I were that kid, who'd go to any length to emulate his role model.

Page 86 of "Ignited Minds", second paragraph reads, "In Kanchi, I was privileged to see Vedic recitation and recitations from the Quran proceeding side by side". You feel it? That humility, curiosity, love for one's country, and respect for all religions; he shaped me in more ways than one. And all the secularists in the sub-continent don't hail his name, which is understandable. He is not for sale.

Of course, Ayn Rand, Paulo Coelho, and Herman Hesse also shaped my life and character; but I've never had a sense of belonging with any of them as I had with Kalam. When I read his words, it's as if he is speaking to me, to us. He is no more now. He is one with the Force. I felt a strong impulse to go to Rameswaram and visit his home back, but now was not the time. Kalam would ask me, "Who are you?" to which I have no answer. I must become, I must be more than what I am in order to stand in front of that rusted green fenced door.

I feel privileged to have lived in Kalam's lifetime. Decades from now, I will have stories to tell -- of character, of selflessness, of integrity, of Kalam.

Watching the Sun rise in Chennai

2015-06-15T21:16:00.002+05:30

I confess. I've never seen a sunrise so beautiful, so 'authentic' and so 'fill-in-any-good-adjective-in-your-mind'. The ones who know me would be surprised that I even woke up to see a sunrise. Well, as the good ole folks say, "where there is a will, there is a way"!

So, the previous night, I had decided that I'd wake up at 4.30am the following day and leave for the Marina Beach. Why the beach? Quite elementary. I had some work there at 6:30am. So, after dinner, I thought "Hey! Why not ensure that you watch the Sun rise! Won't that be amazing?". And, that's how it began in the true sense. I nearly fought with my mom and insisted that she wake me up at 4:30am because I believed too well in myself to let me wake myself up. "4:30am" was running all over my mind till the time I dozed off.

You won't believe me. Even I didn't. I woke up at 4:15am -- all by myself. No alarms. No mom. No dad. I did it all by myself! I was so happy that I dozed off till 4:50am and let my mom wake me up. Once I woke up again, I combed my hair, took all I needed and made my way to the bus stop.

Catching the first of the buses, I plugged in the headphones and listened to some good music. "Suprabhatam" was the first. Time did go fast, and in a blink (maybe a hundred more) I was in front of the beach. Marina Beach -- the world's 2nd longest beach. It had been such a long time since I had seen it. For a few moments, I just stood there. I breathed the fresh, clean, salty air in. As I slowly exhaled, I emptied my lungs to its last brink. I breathed in all the air I could breathe and enjoyed every bit of it.

I noticed the clouds. Oh, they were mesmerizing. Like streaks of gray paint, they covered the sky from north to south. I saw rays of red light amid the clouds and I got the signal. Sun was to rise any moment now. I walked along the beach to find a perfect spot to witness the sun rise. I saw that there were many people around -- walking, brisk-walking, jogging, sitting, sleeping. One could clearly tell which tribe one belonged to -- whether the poor/homeless (who were sleeping on the footpaths) or the middle-class (with their jogging shoes on) or the rich (with their i-pods, cycles, helmets, and jogging suits on).

I saw this guy called Mahatria. I wasn't sure if that was the guy I saw, but a quick Google search showed that it was indeed him. This reminded me of something which I heard long ago, "if you're in Mumbai, go to Juhu Beach at 4am and there are chances you'll find 5 well-established personalities". I saw buffalos munching on the grass in the open gardens. I was observing everything and everyone around me, not missing the eastern horizon. Some people were queerly looking at me, for I was walking on the pavement but was looking at the horizon to see if the Sun has risen.

My 6 rupees of bus ticket was not a waste. My mom's efforts didn't go in vain. I was not disappointed. I witnessed one of the amazing sunrises in years. The last sunrise I properly witnessed was in Burhanpur. Now was the time. From my glasses, I adjusted my vision to that bleak little spot where the red-light rays were escaping with all their speeds. Technically, 3*10^8 m/s.

I was filling my lungs with air in hopes to capture the moment with all my senses. I recalled the day when C.V. Raman discovered the Raman Effect while looking at the sky and Sun. I realized my place in this world as I witnessed an inkling of fire at a distant edge of the horizon. Equipped with my camera, I started taking shots. The Sun, ever so punctual, rose from the ocean waters like a Pheonix from its ashes. With every blink of my eye, the Sun grew bigger and bigger until I saw that it was above the horizon. I felt immense joy. I felt gratitude. I felt awe.

I stuffed the phone in my pocket and replayed the sunrise in my mind. I wondered how fast the Sun had risen. All this while, I tried hard to not let y analytico-logical self dampen my awe with scientific explanations. I was humming "Wonderwall", as the people around me were oblivious of the sunrise. One occasional male bowed his head in the direction of the Sun in reverence and continued jogging. I nodded my head slightly to Sun, as if to say to him, "On time!".

I scaled the entire beach. Earlier, I was looking at the horizon to see if the Sun had arisen. Now, I was looking at the Sun in awe, like a child does. I noticed how it hid partially behind the clouds. The Sun's rays were finding its way out of the clouds such that it seemed that the Sun had a unibrow and was drinking tea from a saucer. I smirked at nature's pun and smirked over everyone who missed it. I noticed a big flock of pigeons sharing their daily cuddle before going for buildings, branches to do what they do -- coo.

I glanced at the beach one last time for the day. The sparkling waters, the gushing waves, the seemingly endless sand, the near absence of humans. I decided it won't be my last. I ran towards the shore like a child would. Oh, the ecstasy! Ouch! An empty conch shell pinched me hard. Limping the rest of my way, I finally reached the shore.

The Sun's rays were dancing on the waters. The waves were washing my feet, an act of intentional pun. With every wave washing my feet, my pants were getting wetter and sand was sticking in my sandals. And that made things a little less good. I turned my head sideways to see if anybody's there. After ensuring that nobody was watching, I quickly took a couple of selfies when I realized that I was not alone. I was being watched, from all 3 directions!

Crabs. Those little crabs the size of my middle finger were also gazing the Sun and the waters and were watching me intently. Maybe spying on me. One quick movement from my end and they'd rush to their hideouts. I realized that they were walking sideways, and that too fast. For ever I tried to catch at least one crab. So what it bit me. I really wanted to touch them, just once. It then 'dawned' on me that not everything in this world is at my disposal.

I lay down on the sand. In a few moments, the crabs were back doing what they do best -- gaze and stare. I gazed along with them. It was wonderful. "I'm not afraid, to take a stage, everybody. . ", my phone was ringing. Mom called. She wanted to know when I'll be back. "An hour", I said.

I took out my phone and reviewed the shots I took. I zoomed on the sunrise shot first. I realized that the Sunrise was indeed surreal. It was as if I've taken a photo of an oil painting -- the clouds were crimson red, and the Sun was just above the horizon. I shrugged, "That ain't bad!". I looked at the other photos and I was happy about it. The smartphone was indeed a worthy companion, I thought.

"These are the days I've been waiting for", I hummed. I let it all sink in my mind and heart. Contented, I made a move. The crabs were gazing, the Sun was shining, the waves were crashing, everything was doing it's job. And they were happy doing it. "What about you?", I asked myself. I am yet to answer that question.

I am Aruna Shanbaug

2015-06-01T15:56:00.000+05:30

In another fortnight I'd have completed my 66th Birthday. Funny I didn't remember it until I was dead, finally.

With all those real and semi-fictional accounts on my life, death, and my 'official' death; here's my version of it. I was born on June 1st. I was born a year after India gained independence. I was the youngest of my near-dozen siblings. Back in Haldipur, I had seen both faces of life -- the happy and the sad. The villagers would dote around me. They'd call me an angel, beautiful princess, of sort. "Princess", I'd often smirk. In stark poverty I was, and they called me a Princess.

After my SSC Exams, I went where everybody went. Bombay, or now Mumbai. I found my place as a junior nurse in Kings Memorial Hospital. Must say, the hospital was elegant, and so were the people there. I found the love of my life in a medic there.

Things went on with the usual ups and downs. I sent my salary back home to support my huge family. My fiancé was very supportive. He once asked, "If you had one wish, what'd you wish for?"

"I wish I was an infant again. No trouble. No tension!", I laughed. "Be careful what you wish for", he smirked. I didn't realize the significance of his words until now. All I cared about then was that we were about to get married soon.

I knew most of the staff by name. And the patients. I liked almost everyone, for all were so humane and sweet. There was this sweeper in particular that I didn't like. Sohanlal was his name. Now I know his full name. Sohanlal Bhartha Walmiki. He was a part of our hospital on contract, and I found his ways very suspicious. He would always wait for the aisle to get empty to sweep. "Saves me trouble", he'd say. One day, I caught him stealing food supplies meant for stray dogs.

I complained it to the Dean and promised action against him. One should've seen his face that day. He was very livid. I turned my head away and went back for work. Some days later, it so happened that I got to stay late. It was usual for nurses like us. The night was 27th November of 1973. Once the work was done, I went to the hospital basement to change my dress. I didn't notice a shadow creeping inside the room.

Shoanlal had a dog-chain in his hand. He hastily covered my mouth with his left hand and slammed my body against his. "You will have to pay for what you did. You care for stray dogs. What are you? A bitch? You know what happens to bitches?!", he hissed inside my ears. I was helpless, I was shaking, my legs were giving away, I prayed to God, I tried biting into his hand and I did.

That was not to his liking. He quickly held my neck with the dog chain and kicked me forward. I was choking on the chain, and it was cutting through my neck. He kept his grip tight and stomped on me. He assaulted me, physically and sexually. I don't even remember having been sodomized until after my death.

He robbed my belongings, and left me in my own pool of blood. The last thing I remembered was that I was gasping for breath. There was air all around in the room, but I was feeling this vaccum inside my lungs. It was killing me. I fainted.

I was found the other day by a staff member, and was quickly hospitalized. I was in coma. Preliminary reports suggested that the choking cut off oxygen supply to my brain. I was rendered cortically blind. I was in deep sleep. I wasn't dreaming. It was all blank.

The entire hospital staff looked towards the dean of my hospital Dr. Deshpande for directions. He was a sweet guy and he knew me well. He knew about my marriage. He informed the Police and had a case registered against Sohanlal for robbery, assault, and attempted murder. He concealed the anal rape part. Now, some would say that he made a stupid decision. If I were in my senses, even I'd have asked him to do the same. Come on, it's 1973. Rape is still a hush-hush topic here, and moreover sodomy isn't covered under the Indian Law's definition of rape.

I know why he concealed that part. He knew of my upcoming marriage, and he believed that I'll soon be fit as a fiddle for my marriage. He was always so positive about things. I came to know about it only yesterday. My fiancé lost hope on me, but he didn't.

Funny, a lady Prime Minister at the helm and not a single woman is safe. Sohanlal was caught, tried and sentenced to 14 year imprisonment. Of course, he wasn't tried for rape.

My condition did trigger something. Suddenly, I was famous. My family came to know about my trauma. They didn't come to see me. I was not in my senses to rue about the fact that even after my 30 years in coma, my grand-nieces didn't know that they had somebody called 'Aruna' in their family.

So what if my family didn't own me. The hospital did. They cared for me, fended for me, and fought for me. A few years later, the Bombay Municipal Corporation wanted to have me shifted. That was it. All hell broke loose. Those sweet, caring nurses suddenly became Modern 'Kali Maa' and fought against the system. I had umpteen mothers in the form of my nurses.

Every year, I got to meet new new mothers. They were fresh from college, and were all so cute and kind. Before moving my hand, they'll come to know that I wished to comb my hair. One bad thing that the sweeper did was filled me with paranoia. I couldn't stand any stranger, especially a male stranger. I couldn't stand a male voice. Once an intern came into my ward by mistake and said "Hi!".

I couldn't see him, couldn't hear his "Hi!". All I heard was his voice and I started shaking, shuddering, and screaming. I didn't remember the night of 27th November, but I very well realized that the night of 27th November never really ended for me.

With time, new terminologies were invented and I was no more a human being. I was branded as a 'PVS'. Permanent Vegetative State. Huh? I'm not a vegetable! I'm not some bag of flesh lying on the bed like a jellyfish, waiting to be experimented or feasted upon. I'm Aruna Shanbaug.

It's been 20 years now. One of my family members did come to see me. And that was it. They didn't do anything. No representation in court. No plea. The court, in Sohanlal's trial, shouted over its voice to call for my family members. No one came forward. The nurses did.

Poverty, they say. They say that they were too poor to claim me. But I sent them my heard-earned salary. I even visited them in 1973, months before it happened. Is that all I am to them? A vegetable? I was a vegetable to them -- you gained from me as long as I provided for you, once I started rotting, you raised your hands and said 'This is not ours!'.

It's 2000 and still I'm waiting for death. Apparently the God of death is stuck in Mumbaiya traffic.

All I do is wail, scratch my head, and lie down. Like an infant. Just like an infant. Oh, I should've wished for something better. Like eternity. Wait, even that would've been worse.

Amid all the nurses as friends, I made a new celebrity friend. Pinky Virani. Never heard her name. She calls me her friend. So she is my friend. She filed a plea for passive euthanasia. I knew what it was. She was asking the Court's permission to give me easy, painless death. Soon.

A panel was set up, Justice Katju was also part of it. I wish his surname was Kaju. They observed me, videotaped my daily activities, and played it in full court house. "Look how she's scratching her head. She's is almost alive", one judge remarked. The Supreme Court, I understand now, had a very important decision to make.

If they let me die, albeit in good spirit, I'll be liberated. But, that would invite tons of similar cases which might not be of merit. Plus, there's the factor of misuse. What if a poor family, who can't afford to care for their own, file for passive euthanasia? They turned down the plea for passive euthanasia because my family was against it. My nurses didn't want to leave me. They held me too tightly. You hold sand in your hand too tightly and it slips faster. But, sand has no life.

Pinky. I've always liked the color pink. I always wanted to tell her that her battle was not lost. Thanks to her, and thanks to my comatose body, India saw a healthy debate on passive euthanasia and mercy killing. Sohanlal is alive, is 71, and is not Sohanlal. He lives by another name. There is no file photo of him, not in FIR, not in court, not in hospital, not anywhere. He was a ghost who never existed, except for me.

An infant takes time to learn things. In 2 years he may learn to talk. Okay, 4 years. 5 years?

42 years?

I didn't bite ice cream, and I caught pneumonia. My lungs started to get filled with pus and water. Life is funny. People say; for every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction. There was no 'equal and opposite' in my case. I was put on ventilator. It is time now.

I felt that vaccum again, that same vaccum that I felt that night. I was struggling for breath, for little bit oxygen. There was air all around me, and my lungs were filled with my own liquids. I was drowning in my own body fluids. Things couldn't have been better.

I was dead on May 18th, 2015. Post my death, I heard someone in the compound say, "She's suffered too much. Now she's liberated. She will be alive in our hearts". "I am not alive!", I shouted, "accept it already! I am dead. Of all the things I ever wanted, I'm dead!". I cried after a long time. No real tears though.

My family cried. No real tears. My mothers cried. Real tears. Pinky cried. Real tears. As if I were a trophy, my family claimed my dead body. "Last rites must be performed by a family member", said my nephew. "Exactly! That's why we are doing it", retorted my mothers. I don't have some fancy concluding remarks to be made. I don't, and didn't wish anyone, even Sohanlal, to be dead. I have nothing to do with this planet.

I wish they remembered me as an angel, a beautiful princess; and not as a 66 year old infant.

Photo credits: TelegraphIndia.com

P.S. Some remarks are fictionalized

The final day of navratri

2015-04-07T13:51:00.001+05:30

Navratri or "Nine Nights" comes 4 times a year, and Hindus celebrate it twice a year. I don't know how other Hindus celebrate it (yes, people do celebrate a single festival very differently and showcase yet another example of 'unity in diversity') but I can tell you how my family celebrates it.

The navratri comes in October and March, and the former is celebrated with much gala. Remember garba, dandia? It happens in October. One thing common is that the final day involves us treating 9 young girls. As far as my memory goes, my mom invites girls who've not yet hit puberty. That's an other story that sometimes elder girls are also called if young girls are in 'shortage' -- c'mon, every family wants to treat 9 young girls and they are in huge demand that one day!

So, once the girls come in our home, Dad greets them joyously and calls them tough sounding names like "Chandraghanta", "Chamunda", "Skandamata", etc. I realized only recently that those names are actually the names of the various avatars of Goddess Durga who is the principal deity in Navratri. So, the girls -- ever so sweet and shy -- are ushered in the washroom where mom washes their feet. I wait for them to come out, and wipe their feet dry with a hand towel.

Yes, I wipe their feet dry. Yes, I felt embarrassed the first time I did it -- because the first time my classmate was also invited. But, you know what? This act humbles you. I'll talk about this later.

So, after the washing and wiping, they're all seated in position and served delicious food. The norm is that only after at least one of them eats can anybody in our family can eat, due to which dad had to arrive at office later than usual. While they're eating, I keep a tab on their plates so they won't have to ask for anything. It takes time to judge what they might need at what time, but yes, now I'm kinda expert. When I hear a small kid coughing, I give her a glass of water.

When they're done eating, my brother picks up the plates and I help them wash their hands. Some girls are so young that they can't reach for the tap, so I lift them up. My mom then departs them with sweets, bananas, and a small gift in a plastic bag.

I was said that those 9 girls are forms of Goddess Durga who come to our home and grace us. I firmly believe that, because it's universally known that Gods reside in children's hearts.

Coming to the part of me wiping their feet. I remember that mom used to tell me to never hit a girl, even playfully. I used to find it odd, very odd. In my young age, I looked like a young Harry Potter with many acnes on my face. And girls used to burst them just like that, it pained a lot. But, I had to control my senses and not hit them back. Now the situation is very different, I have many reasons why I don't hit a girl. Nevertheless, I trace the primary reason to this act of wiping. While wiping, those small water droplets shine o their little toenails and I've mistaken it more than once to be a divine sight. I look up, I see them in their cute dresses and frocks and I see their half-grown teeth from their grinning face. And I notice my inner self utter, "O Mother! O Sister! You are so beautiful that I can never hurt you!". Quickly I add "Don't be mean to me. Because if you'll be mean to me, I'll punch the walls till my knuckles break!"

And this experience consistently humbles me, over and over. Imagine all those misconceptions -- "I am the best", "I can control women" and "I am the strongest" -- crashing the moment your hands reach those little girl's feet! Now this is in true sense an ego-breaking exercise. Remember all those God's stories? About Rama descending to Earth to break Ravan's ego, and Goddess Kali crushing the pride of Rakthbeej? Those little girls, I see those little girls as Goddesses themselves. So what if they don't recognize me the next time I see them down the street or they look away furtively once they notice me? It's only normal for them to act that way, for it is wrong to engage with strangers.

What PK should have made us talk about

2015-01-08T12:35:00.002+05:30

As I am writing this, PK would've crossed 300Cr mark. No, maybe 400Cr? 500Cr? Does it matter? Is any of the viewer going to get a concession? Or any organization going to get an assistance? No. That's something which we don't talk. Ssshhhhh. Ok, for a change let's talk about that which we didn't talk but should've talked.

1. PK (like OMG) targeted Godmen, not Gods

The director knows it, the actor knows it, but the viewers don't. That is what I call moviemaking. PK should've actually helped us question the new-found and well-established "Managers" or Godmen -- some are in jail, and some are in freezer boxes waiting to be ushered out of their Samadhi. PK is an epitome against those Godmen who claim that the God is in the skies (this line is indirectly lifted from a famous novel). But, we hold on to one scene where Shiva is shown running and stage protests.

2. PK expects us to understand our Gods

How many of us understand our Gods? By God, I mean anyone -- be it Vishnu, Shiva, Jesus, Allah, et al. We all adore, try to imbibe, but how many of us understand? To understand is to accept the wholesome image which that God represents, and not just selective aspects of it. We all know Shiva drank poison, and saves the world when needed most. How many of us accept Shiva as a drug-addict (he has bhaang, and weed)? We all know Vishnu as our honest Ram, or lovable Krishna. How many us accept Krishna as a thief, manipulator, liar? Before anybody tells that I'm attacking only Hindu Gods, I'm a Hindu and I know of my religion best. I understand my religion, Gods, and accept them the way they are. And, we needed a PK to help us understand that.

3. PK invites us to see the visible connection between controversy and box-office collections

Statistics prove that controversy is related to box-office collections, in a positive way. Look at the success story of PK, Insaaf Ka Tarazu, Satyam Shivam Sundaram, etc. I seriously wonder whether Raj Hirani and Aamir Khan actually invited the leaders of the political groups and asked them, "Please do some protests. Shatter some theatres. People will definitely line up to watch the movie to judge whether your protests were based on valid reasons or not. After that, they'll post in FB and the cycle will go on and on". And we viewers, we generously gave away our hard earned money to get entertained (read fooled) and havve a hearty laugh, only to come out and utter "I should've offered that Sari to a beggar than to a temple!". Well, true. You should also have used that money (with which you bought movie ticket) and spent it at a well-meaning cause. But, if you had done that, who would've taught you the glorious lesson which PK wants to learn?

4. PK teaches us to question -- the way a child does

Above all, it teaches us all to question -- not only in religion (where PK confined itself), but in governance, ethics, and all other areas. "Why", "What", "How" should be your motto. "Why do this?", "Why do that?" should be the new conversation starters. Then will you get answers. One should question to know, to reason, not to ridicule. And, my dear readers, in your pursuit to question, find your religion. True, if you see it in a way -- by questioning, you tend to be an atheist -- you find no reason for God to exist. Also true, by questioning, you understand mythologies, theology, and your religion better. In both ways, you free yourself from being manipulated by communal elements and find yourself on a higher plane of understanding.

Quite easily we ignored the 4 lessons which PK offered, and got the message which PK forced down your throat.

An experience, from the eyes of a novice

2014-12-30T12:41:00.000+05:30

The template of this love story is the same, with a difference. Here; the girl fell for the guy first, changed herself to suit his description, bore over his tantrums, and in the end does not want to leave him while he gives threats of leaving her over every silly misunderstanding.

What I didn't (and don't) understand is this. A beautiful, intelligent, multi-lingual, frank, outspoken girl will never hear a word of abuse directed over her even from her best-est friend. But, suddenly, as if something strange happens. She gives a guy permission to thrash her in front of the whole world. Love, they say. She gives him her social networking sites' passwords. Trust, they say. She gives him right over her body, which seldom any one will ever have. Surrender, they say. She tells him her deepest, and darkest secrets. Truthfulness, they say.

One day, like always, she gets an SMS. "You go with any guy you like. I won't stop you", it said. She didn't sleep that night, ceaselessly prayed that it better be a vividly bad dream -- that she wake up from it and find her dominoes standing. It was not a dream. She then started praying that everything be rendered fine, somehow.

What is that experienced above by the girl? Love, she claims. I am skeptical. Given, I've never experienced love. But, all that she experienced does not fall in my definition of love. Given, I'm being selective here -- I didn't count the blissful times she had. But, whatever bliss your partner stands for, he/she shouldn't do what shouldn't be done ever. We've all watched/read "Gone Girl".

Enter, a guy (let's call him "A") who like(d) that girl and conveyed that to her when it was already too late. He did it so that he'll not die of regret -- that he didn't speak his heart out. Suddenly, the girl's guy threatens her with a break-up, and she tells A. A is in a troublesome situation. Should he give her reasons to stick through it? That way he would be turning a blind eye to everything her guy did to him.

Should he guide her to break-up? That way he might be misconstrued in facilitating the break-up, so that he can come in her life. Talk of snap decisions.

No. I'm not being feminist here. I'm an equalist and an objectivist. Whoever emotionally harasses/tortures anybody, I am not with that individual. Never. But, life puts us in precarious situations sometimes where you tend to be tempted. Should A have opened his arms wide-open for her, fully aware that he is not sure about it all? Live in the present, they say. But, that does not mean playing with the emotions of a girl/boy, and just leaving her/him once it's time -- especially when you know that your life can take you anywhere, anytime and that you may not get to see her again! I really don't want to be "Daisy" of "The Great Gatsby".

The other day she pinged "He came down and understood me. I'll never give him a chance to doubt me again. I'll be his perfect girl."

That..er. .was. .um. .strange. Maybe I jumped the gun a little. What's the use of being a rational creature, when you can't see both sides of the coin? I just described one side of it in all its intricacy, leaving the other.

I thought, "What about he being her perfect man?". It struck me then. "Love" may come as a perfect form of devotion, where there are no expectations from the other. What one does in 'love' is perfect themselves up, rise above and make it their mission to make 'it' work. In this pursuit, they implicitly trust (one may not even know that they do) that their partner is doing the same thing. Because that is love.

She told that she will be his perfect girl. She never thought of being perfect for anyone. She was proud of herself, her ways. But, for this one guy among billions, she is ready to morph into something she isn't. She listens to his 'itinerary of love' and takes cues on what constitutes his kind of girl. She strives hard. Maybe she likes to hum along a song, but he doesn't. He has still not expressed it to her, but she understood it already. So, she stops humming -- she stops that one activity which connects her with the song. Why? To be that perfect girl. Is she expecting anything in return? No. She's not even sure whether he's noticing the subtle changes in her. Why, then? To give her best to a relationship. To make it work. Simple enough?

For my good part of life, I've followed this dictum -- Expectations hurt -- and I had to find it in the least expected of places. All this while, I thought (and still think) of love as some kind of barter relationship where one gets something from the other. I didn't consider such cases where love may be too true to be mentioned. You suddenly tend to forget all that you did for your partner. You can count it all in front of your close ones (when in distress), but won't be able to do so in front of that one man for whom you did it!

I now see everything in a new light. Maybe the partner is after all a different person to everybody (in order to please them all) but is 'his true self' to that one girl (who he loves). Maybe he wants her to know of his real self, his inner self. We've all had that chameleon moment once in life, where we act 'good' or 'ultra-decent' in front of select few because we have a hidden agenda to fulfill. But with his girl around, he suddenly feels betraying himself if he is not his real self with her -- no matter how rude he is. I do this with parents, to their utter disapproval. Maybe he does not know that he is doing it at all! Love is blind, they say.

I feel like I've solved a good part of a Rubik's cube. There's more to do, but most of it is taken care of. Maybe that's why they say, "If you've not truly loved someone, you'll never understand it". Well, I just unraveled something. Thanks to that girl.

Nevertheless, sometimes I feel I'm doing the right thing. Being single. Such experiences make me re-think over the notions of marriage. I'm seriously considering the possibility of staying an unmarried celibate, than marrying somebody only to hurt them (if at all only once!) or making love to someone who I'm not gonna marry!

This may be posted for all to read, but it is really for a select few -- to that girl, and possibly to the girl who may come into my life. Why am I writing for a future girl (in my life) when I'm so unsure about things? Who knows. . Life can take me for a ride, but my views will be the same -- now that I know if it. And she is entitled to know my fears, and my perceptions. Call me paranoid, but I really can let myself be battered to death than hurt somebody who'll leave her parents, friends, city, home, and her former self and past just to be with me.

Thank you -- this blogpost might have been particularly tiring -- for reading it through.

Instant Messaging ke Side Effects V 2.0

2014-12-22T10:45:00.001+05:30

So, I asked her out for a date. Sounds abrupt and sudden? You'd better read the part-1 of the story.

Back. A rendezvous was set -- Lighthouse. Yes, a lighthouse. Why that? Well, it so happened that back then it was newly opened to the public for a nominal fee, and I told her, "Wanna feel like on top of this city?"

She liked orange flowers. She specifically asked me to come with an orange flower. I searched for one, where I'd not have to pay for it. Miser? Yes. A mega-miser I am. A day before our proposed meeting, she pulled off from it. She had something urgent to do.

":( :( :( :(", was my reply.

Months went by, days went by.

Suddenly, she pings.

"Ahem. Guess what is on 15th of this month?"

"Independence day?"

"No! My birthday!"

"Treat?"

"Come to Chepauk Medical College! I'll be waaaaaiiiiiiting!", she replied. I'd have come to Antarctica had she called me there.

This time I messed it. I had an engagement, so I told her this and wished her on fb.

"Why don't you give me your cell no.? I'll call up and we'll fix a date! LOL", I asked.

"Mommy beating if I number giving!", was her reply. She is good at poetry and rhyming, isn't she?

One day I come to know that she proposed to a guy and he said yes. They love each other, and are looking seriously at marriage -- an inter-religion marriage.

"Will he tie you thali (sacred thread) or will he kiss you?", I asked. I was heart-broken. I liked her.

Technically, she isn't your beautiful dream-girl. Dark complexion and bunny teeth were the 2 attributes which defined her, and I'd fallen for that. I know why I like her. She makes me talk -- nonsense or sense. She makes me happy -- every ping is a small box of bliss for me. I'm sure if I'm ever under depression, her smiley will cheer me up.

After days of conversation, Christmas month came.

"Cake?", I asked.

"I don't make cake ROFL"

"Do I get anything? BTW, you do know I like(d) you right?"

"Yes and yes. But you guess what I'm thinking of gifting you."

"Your cell no.?"

"No. But, here it is anyway. 0000000000"

"WTF! You gave your cell number to a guy you haven't met? You trust me that much?"

"Ahem. One more choice left."

"A golf ball?"

"A golf what?! Seriously?! I was planning to meet you and gift you a greeting card! You couldn't guess that much?"

"You once remarked 'hole in one', so I thought of that. And ya, I did think of your meeting me. But, then I tried twice in it and it couldn't happen."

I don't know what is surprising -- she giving me her contact number despite she knowing that I like her and she knowing that I know that she is in a committed relationship, or she wanting to meet me for Christmas?

I respect her. Not because she gave in to my incessant asking of her cell no. But, simply because she trusts me. It is difficult to forge trust. I've seen better days forging trust, and she proved my every conception wrong. Trust, I think, is a trait which is all powerful. An old hindi axiom declares, "Trust is the giver of fruits, the world runs on trust". Hardly an emotion or trait is as powerful as trust. You need corrupted excess of a trait to go against somebody's trust.

Thanks to everything pertinent and inconsequential, I now understand the differences between my primal emotions. I have experienced what it is to 'like' someone, to be 'infatuated' with someone, to be 'smitten' by someone, to be 'exploited' by someone and to be 'lustful' for someone. It took me interactions with multiple view-worlds to understand this.

I am yet to experience love. Maybe, love is everywhere. I just need to attune myself to it.

The importance of an admit card

2014-12-19T17:00:00.000+05:30

I was blissfully in the lap of my dear siesta. I dreamt of receiving an admit card for the most important examination of my life, which I misplaced it!

I woke up with a jerk. "Phew. . Thank God all is fine. I didn't even clear the exam, how will I get an admit card at all!", I brushed myself off. But, I really wanted to see that exam's admit card.

I called a friend of mine and requested that she send her copy of admit card to me -- I know this is very weird and very stupid -- and she hesitantly obliged. Here it was, on my computer screen, the admit card which I never got.

Contrary to what people may think, admit cards serve a more important purpose than just what it is named for. For the miserly, an admit card is testimony to the fact that he has spent registration fees in the first place to receive it.

For the studious, an admit card is a grim reminder -- like a stop-watch -- to study harder, lose nights of sleep and give it all. For the veterans (who've given that examination umpteen times), an admit card is merely an invitation to a date with the exam. They know how to coax the exam paper into passing them.

For the religious, an admit card is the judgment day. They'd put vermilion over the admit card, place it at the feet of idols and hope to get superpowers out of it. For a no-gooder "philosophite" (like me), an admit card means a lot more than what it means for them.

It clearly is a paid invitation to the exam hall. And unless you carry arms or gadgets, nobody dare stop you from entering the exam hall till you have that admit card. Days before the exam date, the arrival of the admit card reminds me to close my books, and contemplate -- how I could have used the time I had, and how well I intend to use time of the future to achieve what I really wanted to -- only to repeat the same mistake over and over.

So; yes, I really wanted to see what I just missed. And it is pretty much expected that she won't send her admit card to me. Had somebody asked me, even I won't -- not until the exam dates were over!

Remembering 26/11

2014-11-29T17:36:00.004+05:30

"While Taj Mahal is a testimony to love,

Taj Hotel is now a testimony to terror."

6 years have passed, the memories are still vivid and livid. Back then, I saw the events unfold from the very scratch. It all seemed so erratic, so chaotic, yet so incredible. Come, let's revisit some minutes of the 4 fateful days. The purpose is not to petrify or glorify, but to remind us that the past -- however gone -- is very real.

26/11 2000 hours

The night of 26/11 was pretty calm. Fishermen at Colaba were watching the India-England cricket match. A lone fisherman was puffing smoke when he saw a jetty ashore. A group of teenagers got down. That lone fisherman is to atone forever, for not informing the local police about the teenagers, who would eventually take Mumbai by storm.

26/11 2130 hours

Platform 4 of Chatrapati Shivaji Terminus. 2 teenagers made their way to the bathroom along with their rag-sacks. *Bam* *Thud-thud* In a matter of minutes, they walked out of the terminus towards a new target -- Cama Hospital.

26/11 2135 hours

"She was off by the time I looked at my daughter", lamented a woman in the Platform-4 of CST. Meanwhile, TV media channels were brazenly announcing "It has all the makings of a terror attack"

26/11 2200 hours

#2 Outside Leopold Café. 2 teenagers unpack their rug-sack. No one would even give a second glance to them. "Shabby", a random tourist smirked. One of them simply tossed out a bomb-shell inside the café and opened fire.

26/11 2201 hours

Like GTA gone haywire, a couple took refuge behind a concrete column and saved themselves from those bullets. They ran from Leopold Café to Taj Hotel, as were the 2 gunmen.

26/11 2245 hours

*Knock-knock* *Thud* The door of the luxury suite of Mr. Ramamurthy was gunned down. That suite of Taj Hotel was the terrorist's make-shift command center now. "The sea-view is amazing from here", one of them remarked as the other was preparing to burn the entire floor.

27/11 0130 hours

The police cordoned a white skoda car. "Come out now!", the police announced. But the skoda car driver had other plans. The driver was shot dead. The driver's colleague sprayed constable Tukaram Omble with bullets, but Omble didn't lose his grip on Ajmal Kasab.

27/11 0215 hours

"Get a couple'a floors burning", the handler said.

"Praise the God! You'll see it in a few seconds. Watch this particular news channel. They are showing us live!", the terrorists anounced to the handler on the satellite phone.

27/11 0230 hours

"What? We need NSG now! We can't wait till morning!! What do we do here now? Praise the almighty?!", an official shouted on the phone. The NSG's only base was in Delhi.

27/11 0500 hours

"We're 10 of us. Fedayeens. Even if you kill us, we'll get liberation while you rot in hell!", Kasab laughed as he gave the redundant information to the police.

27/11 1500 hours

"Ok. We're on Ground zero. We need 3 more hours to prepare a strategy", NSG announced. The operation was codenamed "Black Tornado"

28/11 1300 hours

"You're safe enough. We've got you", the fireman tried to calm a victim hostage.

"How do you know? Safe? You sure?", he babbled inconsistently.

28/11 1400 hours

"I'm afraid, brother"

"Don't be. Remember? Open indiscriminate fire, kill as many, secure a vantage point, and stay as long as you can and kill as many as you can!"

28/11 1500 hours

"Look how eloquently the Indian media is showing sagas of your victorious expedition. Go on. In the name of the almighty, show me some more action! Use those big ones I sent you!", the tapped message sent shivers down the Indian authorities' hands. "Bloody stop the live feeds!", somebody shouted.

29/11 1800 hours

"I could hear the noise getting louder and louder, the walls were getting hotter and hotter", a survivor recounted.

29/11 1500 hours

"Ma'am! What do you have to say about this? How many bodies you saw? How did you come out alive?", the reporters were mobbing a foreigner who somehow managed to get out on time from Oberoi Hotel.

After 4 days of carnage, 166 were dead and 308+ were wounded. Kasab confessed that Pakistan's ISI supported the plan. A collaboration of LeT and SIMI yielded incredible results to them. My soul and fingers are numb. One question remains, "All this. All of this. WHY?"

*Some remarks are semi-fictionalized*

Interstellar, and why I hated it

2014-11-11T14:26:00.001+05:30

The cast, and other details are here -- Interstellar (IMDB)

Interstellar was a boring experience. From the beginning, the wagon was moving so slow that I thought I'd catch myself yawning. I know. My friends and the ones who know me better are smirking by now, "serves you right. You were the one who were going gaga over the Nolan effect". But, things were wrong here.

A movie director is supposed to control the artistic and dramatic aspects and should be able to visualize the script. Things becomes easier when the director is also the script writer (as is the case here). What went wrong is with the cast. Nolan chose a star too bright, so bright that Matthew McConaughey outshines the rest of the universe. Literally, you see Matthew perform and forget to see the diminishing Earth from the space-pane. Anne Hathaway does her bit of acting, so does the others.

I'm not going to reveal the plot, that would break the promise I made to Nolan. But, I can tell you the areas from where the plot is 'lifted', i.e. from "Back to the future", "Zathura", et al. Does that mean there is nothing original in the film? No. What is original here is the visualization and the filmmaking. You get to go close, and even inside a black hole. At least in "Gravity" you knew already how space walk worked. But here, nobody knew how a black hole looked like. So, full marks for ingenuity.

But, an hour to make us understand a brittle father-daugther relationship? That ruined the movie. If you remember, Inception gave us a much deeper account of a broken marriage in 15 minutes. Talk of economy and ingenuity.

Coming back to Nolan. I've always struggled how to describe my affinity to this Briton called Christopher Nolan. Do I like his direction, cast, filmmaking, visualization, script-writing, his choice of music directors (reads Hans Zimmer)? Even if I were to know what I like of him, I still wouldn't know the 'why'. That's when Baradwaj Rangan's article "The Man who does too much" came to the rescue. Mr. Rangan sees Nolan as a guy who 'wants to be considered so deep, it must hurt him'. And Bazinga!

If Rangan's description were true, if that alone were the law, then I see Nolan as a higher version of me or me as a lower version of Nolan. There are so many things going on in my mind all the time. Even when I want to avenge a soul for a wrong done, I empathize with that soul and understand the motives behind his actions. Such an empathy greatly reduces my need to avenge, but leaves a vaccum inside of me. I ask myself, "You understand the world and pardon it for every wrong done. Who will understand you? Who will pardon you?" When I first saw Insomnia, I didn't know Nolan directed it. I felt as I knew why Robin Williams acted the way he acted in the movie. Then I saw Inception, and I understood the movie in one shot. My friends (many) told they had to watch it 2-3 times to get the plot. Maybe they paid too much attention to the background, or the amazing Hans Zimmer music. Nevertheless, I watched Inception 5 times at different mind-states. And I got to go deeper in the characters' psyche. I watched Prestige and I knew instantly why it didn’t matter for Christian Bale to see all those floating dead Hugh Jackmans in the last scene. "Are you watching closely?"

Only after I watched Prestige did I know that a Christopher Nolan existed. And after that is common sense. I googled him, and got pleasant surprises. I like to watch movies. I see it not as an object of time-pass. I see it the way they are made to be, 'pieces of art'. Movie is a creation by the director, crew, et al. We remember the movies but forget the ones behind it, just the case with mothers. I empathize with the characters, and voice my dissent if the plot does not do justice to the characters or vice versa. Which is why I hated the movie Interstellar for the first 1 hour. Then came Matt Damon and did the unpredictable, the unthinkable. And I saw through Matt Damon's psyche. And it is from here that I loved Interstellar. And, if you've read the article this far, then you already know why I loved Interstellar.

Mary Kom, Multiplex, and a feeling of Pride

2014-10-19T19:04:00.000+05:30

Long story short, I went to a mall with my friends when I was dragged into the multiplex to watch a movie. My friends sponsored my ticket (yay me!). Inside, I was giggling, chatting around, giving spoilers and critiquing as the movie was progressing.

True, I held Mary Kom in high regard. True, I was not comfortable with the casting for the film. False, I hated the movie. 2 hours passed quite easily, and the last scene took us to the final match where Mary Kom was announced the winner. The emcee asked the people in the stadium to stand up for the national anthem. A melodious instrumental version of the Indian national anthem reverberated inside the multiplex. I wondered whether we should also stand. It was our national anthem after all, and the least we could do to show respect to our anthem, country and the freedom struggle is to stand straight, still and silent.

I even conveyed my thought to my friend. Just then, I noticed a guy from the 1st row stand. I ignored it thinking he may have a phone call to attend. Then, a guy from the 3rd row and later a guy from the 2nd row stood up. They all have phone calls to attend? Lucky that I was part of the last row, I saw the entire 4th row stood up in unison. It was the 100th Monkey Experiment, revamped. That gave me the needed signal. Even I stood up, and urged my friends to do the same. Soon, the entire multiplex hall was witness to a rare phenomenon. The audience was standing in rapt attention, respecting the national anthem. I didn't see the screen-light of a single smart-phone turn on amid this. We stood straight with pride on our faces.

The anthem met its end, and people sat back as if picture abhi baaki hai (there's still more to see). The credits started to roll, and we started moving slowly towards the aisle. In some strange way, I felt connected to all of them. I knew none in that crowd, apart from my friends. But, I felt that I could talk to any of them. Few were from north-east, few were from Kerala, and one was a Punjabi. All so different; yet so same. Because, we all stood for our national anthem. We all loved our country this much. I felt elated.

Back on our way to the food court, I saw my friend's faces. Even they were in their own trances. We did discuss what we just witnessed. We all were civil services aspirants, so naturally we were reminded of the rules and procedures of the National Flag and National Anthem of India. But, did the audience back in the multiplex know about the rules? Maybe not. Yet, they stood up. That, in my view, was amazing. Thank you, director sir -- for this unprecedented experience. Thank you for being the unwitting cupid in uniting a set of 100 strangers, even for a bare minute.

P.S. The gray, bold phrases are actually hyperlinks.

For more, visit Vivek Apparently Writes

Good morning, Principal Sir!

2014-10-06T21:36:00.000+05:30

Mata, Pita, Guru, Deivam.

Such is the importance of Teachers (Gurus) in our lives that they precede God. When asked, a saint gave an epiphany "Guru precedes God because it is the Guru who shows us the God and His true essence!"

To the point. This year's Teacher's Day is special to me. Since, my Alma Mater's Principal SAdhiappan was honored by a Teacher's Award by the Prime Minister of India. Frankly, I did not know about it until 8th September, when my father was scrolling through Facebook. It was past midnight when he came to my room and announced, "Your headmaster won an award from Modiji!" I couldn't contain myself. A phantasmagoria of memories came flashing through my mind.

Back in 2007, after my 10th standard board exams, we were discussing which school to opt for. My father suggested, "Why not Motilal Fomra?". "Moti what?", I retorted. "Yes! I studied there. It's a great school and you'll learn a lot of practical things". I wondered what 'practical' things I could possibly learn. I knew Algebra, Civics, quadratic equations, Nuclear Fission reactions, et al. We went to the narrow lanes of Sowcarpet where the school stood. The façade of the school was amazing, it had a semblance of a temple. We made our way to the headmaster's room. There he was, S. Adhiappan sir. I didn't realize the gem in him until an hour passed in his company. He made me appear for an entrance test; in the mean time my father talked to him and to his former Accountancy Sir. I noticed that he received several accolades for his contribution to teacherhood. Under the school's aegis, a lad scored State 2nd rank in Hindi!

A little forward, and I'm sitting in the classroom preparing for a school program. I was the emcee, I had never done a thing like this before. My class teacher knew this, and insisted that I do it. Minutes before the program, Principal Sir came to me and uttered some magic words to me. "Take a few deep breaths. Stay calm. Don't forget to show respect in your voice. And do what you do best!" The program was a success. He helped me find my niche. I hone my oratory skills by participating in debates, speech competitions and more.

I was selected to emcee for the Sports Day!

Months went past our eyes and there we were, a day before our 12th standard board exams. He looked at his batch, his eyes told what his mouth didn't. He was proud of us, no matter how smart or silly or dumb or athletic we were. The results came, and he spotted me. He congratulated me, "Good job! You've come first in Science group!" I touched his feet, and he gladly blessed me. The time was around 9am, since the daily prayer chants were reverberating throughout the school building. "Time and Tide wait for none. Best Wishes.", he signed in my autograph book.

When I was studying in college, I did a stint in home-tutoring. The kids were small, jovial and hardly interested in studies! I found a way to make studies interesting to them. I started narrating them the science behind counting numbers and the grammar behind the usage of "its" and "it's". Tough it was, but the results made me forget everything. Their mother would give me an occasional cup of tea at times when I would go there straight from college. She would voice her concern when her children would not show results, and would be on cloud nine when her daughter would score a 5 on 5! I realized that teaching is all about passion, it cannot be forced. When they scored beyond my expectations, I would walk all the way my home with a smile on my face. Being a teacher to someone is in itself a blessing.

Here I am; graduated in B.Sc. Chemistry, worked in one of the best companies in the world, and currently preparing for civil services. But I still remember my Principal Sir. His gestures, his words, and his etiquette has influenced me a lot. Not only his, but all my teachers have influenced me greatly. It is my math teacher who advised me "not to write the answer to a math problem unless you fully understood the logic behind it"! In fact, my teachers have made me the Vk that I am. A belated Teacher's day wishes to all of them. I want to see glee in their eyes, the kind seen when a teacher meets her successful student after a long time.

Survival in the Velds -- Part 2

2014-09-01T22:47:00.000+05:30

Click here for Part-1 of "Survival in the Velds"

"Quick. Shoo the children away with you. Take shelter somewhere. Go!", Zumba hissed. "You take care Zumba", Salya said and ran with the children. "You also. Go. This is my battle. I don’t want to see any of you in harm", he growled at his consorts. "No master. You won us. We will be with you till our last breath, or your last breath", the consorts growled back in unison.

"Hello. Zumba. Father-murderer!", Po'El shouted.

"Face me Po'El! Why shout miles away? Afraid?"

"Of course not, dear. Sorry for keeping you waiting. The rule is to give a warning. You saw the warning yesterday noon. So, you've lived 18 hours at my expense. I'm good at math and geography. You'll have to pay for this", he growled as he was walking near Zumba.

He remembered his battles. The one with his father, where he inherited the land. The one with Taanoi, where he won 5 lionesses -- including Salya. "This is going to be tough", he muttered to himself.

"Mutter to me!", Po'El roared as he pounced over Zumba with lightning speed.

One blow to the left, another to the right and then attack his neck!

Po'El was flawless in his attack technique. But Zumba had anticipated the last move and covered his neck.

"Good. So now we go for round two", Po'El panted.

"Now its my turn!", Zumba roared with all his might and slapped Po'El hard. He nearly displaced his jaw. In a distance a man in a brown tent was shooting this on his HD camera -- 2 naked males were fighting while 6 naked females watching with delight. "My God! Gruesome! This indeed is Africa!", he muttered with glee.

The fight lasted for 15 minutes. The final blow was delivered by Po'El. Zumba's neck was slashed open, his groin muscles were hanging like loose flesh. Zumba bled to death. A gruesome one, indeed.

Po'El licked his nails. "Warm", he muttered. Zumba's consorts were helpless. Po'El had won them. "In the line. Now!", Po'El roared. The 4 of them lined behind 6 of Po'El's consorts. "The kids? The kids! This male had kids! Where are they?"

"This way", one of Zumba's ex-consorts guided Po'El to impress him. Po'El kissed him hard, licked the insides of her mouth and whispered, "You and me tonight". She blushed. She was the new favorite of the master.

"Well, well", Po'El muttered. Salya was shocked to find him here. The children were playing nearby. Salya pounced over him, and he slapped her hard. She fell off a short ledge. "Aren't they cute? What's your name?", he growled. "Don't kill them, Po'El! I'll do as I say! They don't even know how to talk!", she cried.

"You'll anyways do as I say! And for the kids? Rules are rules, dear. I'm merely diminishing any future possibilities of usurping", he joyously growled as he dug his teeth deep into the children's necks -- one by one. All the children could do was meow. He slapped the bodies hard, to ensure that they were really dead. He then jumped off the ledge and made way for Salya.

"Why invade our territory? Isn't your land good enough?", she growled. "No dear. The land is verdant with lots to feed on. In fact, so much that 5 generations could live on it! But, I needed more", he remarked. "Did you kill Z. . u. . m. . ba?", she asked in a shaky tone. "Had to. He was very brave, relentless. It's been years since I've fought a male like him", he honestly replied. She felt elated. She turned away and started walking.

"Ahem. Where are you going?", he asked. "Does it matter?", she asked him. "Rules are rules, right?", he said. It suddenly struck him. Zumba had won her from Taanoi, and now Po'El had won her from Zumba. She could do nothing. She was not a commodity. She was more. She was a trophy. His trophy.

She was helpless. She did not know that she could end this agony, not by killing him -- that she could not in her wildest dreams -- but by killing herself. She did not know the concept of suicide, lest she would have jumped off the highest cliff and got away from all of it. "My babies. My cute, little babies", Salya quietly cried beside Po'El who was fast asleep. Zumba died an honorable death.

Survival in the Velds -- Part 1

2014-09-01T22:44:00.002+05:30

Zamba was on a victory ride with his family. He strolled the Velds naked, dragging his kill. It was a matter of pride in the community. His long, shiny hair covered much of his neck and cheeks -- trimming hair was taboo. His consorts followed him closely; with eyes on the kill and the area they were walking on. They had to remember the extent of his territory, lest someone should usurp it!

Zumba was a father -- he fathered 6 cute babies. As of now, they could barely speak. But they mimicked cats. Zumba would always instigate them, only to hear their feeble meows. His consorts would come in between, growling, asking him to back off. Zumba had to listen, if he had to ever mate with them again! He loved his family. He loved his territory, which he inherited from his father. "Inherited", he smirked at his own reflection in the pond. "If killing one's own father and usurping his throne is inheritance, then so be it! Even he would have inherited!", he laughed and roared. He loved his father, but his father was getting in the way. "Not any more", he whimpered.

Salya creeped towards and sat close to him. Salya, one of his consorts, was his favorite. Zumba had won her in a duel. Ever since that day, she had always loved him. Salya creeped closer. He could feel her warmth. "It's OK. . You did what you had to. Let's hope you will give your sons an option to not kill you", she murmured while she was tending to his wounds.

"Tell me one thing. Why do you lick my wounds?"

"My mom used to do that when I got hurt. So I thought I might as well do that to you!"

"Of course! There's one more place I'm badly hurt"

"Where? You animal! You don't know how to hunt one prey properly?!"

"The wound's in here. See?", he signalled his unkempt nails towards his grotesque lips.

"Oooo. That's badly hurt. Very badly. Come here; let me tend your wounds"

And what happened next is left to the discretion and imagination of the reader.

Day broke. Zumba had nothing to do. He roamed around, and asked his consorts to go in other directions and collect news. "Why ask us to collect news? You have your messengers!", they would shout. "My messengers serve the title. You serve me. And, I trust you. Is it that bad to trust you?", he roared. A shudder passed through anyone who heard that high-decibel noise coming from his vocal chords. His consorts quickly hurried away.

He seldom met people of his kind. He thought of things differently. He had radical notions. He believed that all living beings had a 'soul' -- that living and dying is part of a grand cycle. Others shrugged his ideas off. He would let them shrug. That day, he noticed something different. The territory had alien markers. "I didn't do that", he murmured as he closely checked those marks on trees. They were done by somebody powerful, so powerful that he tore off the tree's bark in one stroke!

"Danger is coming. Be careful and stay close. And no matter what happens, I want my kids safe", he conveyed his message to his consorts. It was only a matter of days when the big fight was expected. He could not sleep that night. Salya tried to play with him, but he slapped her. "Coward! Hit the one who's coming to fight. How dare you hit a female?!", she growled and sprung upon him to hit him.

He easily overpowered her and whispered in his ear, "Remember the duel? You look the same angry as you were then. Let me smell your anger. Oh, look at that heart beat! My God, you are tempting me!". "What if I am?", she murmured as she was looking at him through her eyelashes. "In that case, let me prey on your heart", he kissed her body and her soft, tender breasts. She moaned. He continued the foreplay a bit longer, till she could no longer take it. She then scratched his chest and moaned, "Do it! Do it!". "Not today. When the fight is over, then you'll have the time of your life!"

Sun rose as usual. No. Not as usual. With dawn came the imminent omen. The birds flew from their nests all at once, the bison moved away from the velds. No animal wanted to be witness to the event that was about to unfold. Many had heard of the legendary Po'El. Po'El - The Usurper. Legend says that nobody, that is, nobody could escape from Po'El once the eyes of Po'El were set on that mortal. There were rumors that Po'El was cordoning Zumba's territory, but Zumba had shrugged it off.

"He has to give us a warning. That is the rule", Zumba once said. "So, the marks you saw yesterday were made by Po'El?", Salya asked Zumba. Salya sounded terrified. The consorts were looking white with fear. The children were playing with a lizard.

Click here for the Part-2 of "Survival in the Velds"

Stalking 2.0

2014-08-04T21:29:00.000+05:30

"I respect Women. And; when I say I've never stalked any woman, I mean it!"

"Ok. As much as you want me to believe you, I don't. Define stalking."

"Follow stealthily or recur constantly and spontaneously to."

"Good. Now define it in your own words."

"Fine. When a man follows another stealthily, recurrently for his own vested interests; he is stalking. He can follow for gaining access to the other person, to be privy to key information, or to simply gain the other person's confidence. He may as well want to be with that per. . . . s. . .o. . .n"

"Now. Please answer thee first question, again."

"I've stalked a woman. Online."

And he started recounting the episode to himself in a voluntary self-interrogation session, which was triggered after he watched a TV Show where women were discussing their stalking experiences.

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

He right-clicked on that particular photograph that caught his eye, and saved it in his downloads folder. "Damn! The internet!", the internet disconnected itself just as he finished his download. He spent the next few hours of the night by simply staring that photograph.

"Look at her eyes, those pairs of spectacles, that slick black dress. That blue hair-band is looking beautiful on her head, like a tiara. I so wanna meet you, just be with you", he was whispering all this fully aware that his younger brother was sleeping next to him. Once he was done with what he wanted to, a shudder passed through his body. He closed his laptop lid, and went to sleep.

The next day, he logged into FB. "What was that page? Yeah! Hot as hell people on fb!", he was typing faster than ever. He quickly scrolled for that particular photograph. He enlarged it. "Right click, reverse search with google -- and google will tell me who she is!", he sneered. But the internet connection was too slow for it. He took 20 bucks from his wallet and dashed to the nearest internet café.

Google didn't throw any relevant results. He was disappointed. "What if I read those comments?", his idle mind had become a devil's R&D lab! He scrolled through the image comments, of no use. He gave a cursive glance to the caption. "Found it!", he shouted and sprang from his stool. The café owner gave an angry glance. He sat back and quickly opened her FB profile. "Awww. . She looks so beautiful. Like a Cinderella doll!", he scrolled through her photographs. He downloaded all of them and saved it in his pen drive.

Back home, his laptop was fully charged by now. He simply stared at those photographs, reimaging the scenes -- as if he clicked those photographs. He found that she lived in Pune, and studied in an engineering college. "How far is Pune? Which train goes to Pune? What color does she like most? I am loaded!", he congratulated himself. He had everything, ecvept the money needed for travel and her mobile number.

"Your blue hair-band looks very attractive on your head"

He had messaged this to her on FB. A reply came within minutes. He was on cloud nine!

"Ty ;)"

"Yae! She winked! She WiNkEd!", he was internally shouting in delight. He shot her a friend request.

A day passed. The day after tomorrow passed. She had not accepted her friend request. He thought of those movies where the heroine ultimately gives in to the Hero's constant nagging and that's when love blossoms! Will his heroine yield?

"I've sent you a friend request, and you've not accepted it yet", he shot her another message.

"??!", she replied.

He waited for another day. Then he cancelled his friend request. But, that was not enough. He could not get over her. He had to be with her.

"I just want to be friends with you!", he shot the message and regretted. A lot.

Like a lightning struck him, his mind went numb. He got back home and thought of his actions. Was she obliged to accept his friend request? Was she obliged to befriend him? Should her wink-smiley be taken in the wrong sense? Does the fact that she posted her photo in a community page gave him the right to approach her so brazenly? He did not know what he did in those few days. He had stalked a woman. Ignorance of a crime is not an excuse in itself. He was well over 18. He had graduated from one of the best colleges in India, and was lauded to be open-minded and logical. Was his action logical? No. He was infatuated. His brain was infected with lust. Was this enough reason for him to do what he did?

She didn't reply to his last message. He didn't have the courage to reply back saying "Sorry"!

So much for the fulfilment of temporal desires. A year has passed. This incident still haunted him. So much that when he saw that TV Show, he saw himself in one of the stalkers! That was when he asked himself those questions, and realized, to the full extent, the prospective ramifications of his actions. He was not afraid of the legal ones. He was afraid that he'd never be able to look into his own eyes. He was afraid that he would rather chop his fingers than forgive himself!

To the readers: Stalking is an offence, a legal one. All I'm saying is this. Respect the fact that the other person has a brain of his/her own. Love, care, affection; they come by choice. They cannot be forced.

Some companions have four legs

2014-07-08T21:30:00.000+05:30

Dogs. From those cute little Chihuahuas to the hefty boxers to the slender Shepherds; they're all adorable. Nicknamed "a man's best friend", they truly live up to it. They know the language of love -- unconditional love, love that does not consume but sacrifices everything. There are millions in this world who pet one dog or the other, some pet dozens. They say, you need to pet a dog to know what it is to be with a dog. I agree with that. We may pet dogs for various reasons -- heartbreak, the idea of feeling wanted, reciprocation of love, fantasy, competition, show-off, fun, and more. But, dogs let us pet them for only one reason and they expect only one thing from us. The answer for the former is love, while for the latter is care.

Dogs can be the most funny creatures. You just need an observant eye. At times, you can catch them running behind their own fluffy tails! While at other times, they'll bark at their reflections (remember the story where the dog loses his bone because he barked at his reflection in the pond?). You go to dog shows and see all kinds of dogs, exquisite to raw to elegant. And there we will have some dogs who troll and photobomb other dogs just the way we would do at parties! You see those dogs who've been with their masters long enough to imitate them in their own ways (have you noticed how some dogs sit on their master's couches and don't budge a bit?). Ya ya, I have some photos (which I scrapped from random sites) to prove the points in this entire article (including those mentioned in this paragraph!) so just scroll through!

Some dogs are trained to bring newspapers, sit, run, bite, shit at right places, etc. While some dogs are trained to be the eyes of other people! Shepherds are trained to be the eyes of the visually challenged. Those dogs efficiently guide their blind masters throughout the city, while some have reported to have saved them from accidents and apartment-fires! Some dogs are trained to be life-savers. Take St. Bernard for example. Those fluffy large dogs sniff out victims of avalanche from the debris and dig them out to give them a new lease of life. Man does things for a reason. What reason does the dog have to save strangers, the strangers who'll not even give St. Bernard a cookie in return? Training is one reason. But the answer is partially right. Training is useless without perseverance and the will to act.

Talking of training, some dogs are trained to utilize their olfactory senses to their optimum level. They're trained to be sniffers. Remember those movies where the leashed dog sniffs a piece of cloth and roams the entire town to find the heroine, only to let the hero take all the credits of finding her? Remember the dog from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's "The sign of four"? Remember the movie scenes where they show dogs sniff out bombs, and RDX? Yes. All these have distinct smells, and they're relentlessly trained to identify a chemical based on its scent and report it by barking incessantly. These dogs are placed in bomb squads and inevitably become family with the bomb-squads! So much is the attachment that the bomb squad arranges for a military cremation with full honors for their departed companion.

Tears run from my bulgy eyes as I type this. No, I don't have a dog. But, I've petted stray ones outside the street. I've caught myself tapping their heads slowly and then suddenly miss a beat -- only to see their expectant eyes shut waiting for the beat which never came. But, why in the world am I typing all of this? What's the use? There will be anyways instances of atrocities committed on those mute creatures by both individuals and the agencies (govt. and pvt.), for reason as silly as loitering around without a leash. I've seen dogs run over by bikes, incarcerated in small cages, rendered sterile unhygienically, earflaps sliced, and more. Nevertheless, they are our heroes

(mine, at least!). They are our companions. Companions on four legs.

Defending the Fathers

2014-06-25T23:01:00.000+05:30

A few months back I penned down thoughts on my mom and mailed it thro. Was highly appreciated. Everybody at my home was happy, got calls from my relatives. I showed it to Dad. He told, "already read it the day it came. Read it 4 times. It was good". "Jee dad, thanks. Are you not curious why I didn't write about you?", I asked. "Of course not! You love your mom the way I love my mom, words or without words", pat came the reply. This set me thinking.

It's been 2 months now and I still can't give enough words to what I've been thinking. There's this shloka in sanskrit: "Mata, Pita, guru, Deivam" which sets the order of precedence. Dads come 2nd. After much thought, I can safely say that Dads are as equally important as moms. I remember once I went with my dad to a temple. The 'hundi' of the temple was enormously huge, and it had an opening at the top. I wanted to see what was inside it. Dad brushed me up in an instant and placed me on his shoulders. I clutched the hundi cloth with my small hands and peeped in. I saw those glittering coins and beamed at my father. My father reciprocated.

'who beat you the most?', I asked myself. 'Dad!', came the reply from within. 'Why?', I asked myself. 'Because he wanted you to improvise on your mistakes, be better, and be disciplined', the reply echoed from within. Somehow, I didn't regret the times I was beaten. Maybe I saw that he was sad from within when he beat me. Maybe I knew that I was at the wrong side. Once Dad was very angry at me, even I vented it all out and we didn't talk for days. Mom came to me the other day, and told that Dad regretted having scolded you so bad. "No. . He shouldn’t be. . I was at fault", I murmured.

Mom and Dad are like yin and yang, like the good cop and bad cop in everyone's life. One appreciates you, and the other pushes you forward. I asked my dad once nonchalantly, "You simply say good. Even when I got high marks in board exams, all I got from you was good". "There was once a son who used to make intricate jewellery. He got praise from all places but one. His dad, a goldsmith himself, would always point out some flaw always! One day the son asked the same question you asked me. 'If I were to appreciate you, I'm afraid you'd grow complacent. I want you to test your limits, break your records', his dad replied", told my dad.

The problem is simple. While mom's efforts are seen by their children, dad's efforts are behind the curtains. And dads don't speak out, not sure if it's in their genes. The other day, my friend celebrated her birthday and dad came home late. He gave her the gift she yearned for, but she furiously retorted "I hate you dad! Do you know all my friends waited for you? I don't need any gifts from you. Don’t compensate!". Mom saw this and was about to reprimand her, dad stopped her. "Beti, I'm sorry. Got stuck in work and traffic. Please forgive me", he stood in front of his daughter with his fingers stretching his ears. She ran to her room and slept off. "Honey, why didn't you tell her that you searched all the shops in this city to get her this one doll she wanted!", she asked her husband. Her husband laughed it off. Her daughter had heard this, and she ran to her father and apologized.

Such are fathers, one letter short of feathers. Because they play a pivotal role in your life, career, and relationships. They are the ones who give you wings, not some beverage company. I believe in my mom, and am confident of my dad. With these 2 persons around, I can face any problem in life. At times of play, he's one with me; and at times of studies, he ensures that I study harder. A perfect mix of salt and sugar, my dad. I'm not sure whether we need a day to be allotted as "Mother's Day", but we definitely need a "Father's Day".

Killing Spree

2014-05-27T13:22:00.001+05:30

"My son is innocent. He is a very good boy. God have mercy on him if he ever did something wrong. He even saved a kitten from a dog the other day. He is an angel. He couldn't have shot 31 people. On a broad daylight you say? He never could have. Poor child, he even killed himself! Please, leave me alone. Don't make a murderer out of my son. Leave me alone!"

An hour earlier.

He was sitting in my Porsche. Oh the weather! The weather was so serene, calm. "Father said a calm weather precedes a storm". Puffing a cigarette, he was wondering, "What would happen if Hannibal Lecter were here, in this piazza? He would shop for human livers, but wouldn't find any. Such a pity. I'd be glad to offer him my liver!". He never liked human flesh. He tried once. It was disgusting. But Hannibal, he adored Hannibal and even contacted Thomas Harris for help. Thomas Harris wrote the infamous Hannibal Series inspired by a Mexican doctor. He wanted Thomas to give him the name. Thomas did give him the name, but alas! The real Hannibal died of hunger, hunger for human livers.

Today was the doctor's 1st death anniversary. He thought of celebrating it grand. He had no friends, only fiends. Here he was -- in his Porsche, champagne in hand, and Beethoven's sixth symphony in his ears. "I can't rip people. It's just too dirty. Plus, my shoes would get spoilt", he was arguing with the mirror. The voice from the mirror said, "Then why don't you honor the doctor by shooting? You even have a shotgun!". Yes, the Browning Auto-5. "My father gifted me this for my 18th birthday. How can I forget that?", he grinned.

An auto-loader shotgun whose production was stopped in 1998, it was a personal favorite of the buck hunters. Patented by John Browning in 1900, it was a beautiful machine. He loved the long nozzle, and was amazed by the high rear end. He named it 'Humpy'. His father used it in Vietnam War, and passed it down to him saying "This girl saved my ass from those Asians. Keep this with you. Now that you're 18!".

The piazza was bustling with people and hawkers. Fruits, meat, loaves, candies -- you name it! A small child was screaming, "I want one more!". The mother was reluctant. Touched, the hawker presented the little girl with another candy. She smiled. He beamed. On a corner-ledge, a sweet young couple were gazing at the clouds. Both were listening to some soft music on their headphones. Her head rested on his shoulder, and his head rested on her head. A kodak moment.

The weather was calm, and calm weather preceded a storm.

He had his skullcandy covering his ears. "Beethoven!", he shouted internally. His legs were swaying, and his entire body followed. He was waving his hands in mid-air, as if he were guiding the orchestra. It looked as if he was unmindful of the piazza and the people. He was lost in the music. Every good music has an end, lest it should become noise. Once Beethoven's Pathétique was over, his swaying hands reached the window of his car and pulled out his Browning A-5.

The people were unmindful of the dancing man. They chose to ignore him. With one quick swing, the shotgun was held between his fist and his right shoulder. Before anyone could realize what was happening, he shot the hawker. Eyes wide open, his mouth agape -- anticipating the scream which never made its way out. The mother quickly lifted her daughter and started running. "Not so fast grande dame! Your daughter even got an extra candy, right?", he was shouting as he aimed and shot the mother. The bullet pierced through her rib cage and bored through the daughter's skull. The crowd was running haphazardly. "Chaos", he murmured. He slowly walked towards the couple, whistling his favorite song "My Way" by Frank Sinatra. He blew his head in a thousand pieces with a bullet. She was aghast. He came closer. She forgot to breathe. He came closer, kissed her cheek and murmured "I love you, and want you to come with me". She hastily nodded her head, hoping he won't kill her. He took out his cellphone, took a selfie with her. He pushed her off the ledge, and shot her mid-air. "See? I knew I'm a good shooter!", he congratulated himself. He had a pristine bullet in his pocket. He loaded it, and aimed it at his chest. "Hannibal! This is my anniversary gift to you. 6 human livers! And yes, I don't rip. So, I'm giving you the trouble of ripping and cooking", he shot himself. The impact of the shot threw him off the short ledge, and he fell in the abyss of darkness. All this took 13 seconds. 6 universes were shattered in 13 seconds.

His father came to know about it from his secretary. "What? That son of a bitch! What will happen of my reputation?!! Get me the media guy on the phone now!". "Now listen you creep! My son did not kill them intentionally. All this was due to his illness. Invent some disease which can explain it all. This case should not f*cking go to the court. Call the families, and stuff these dollars in their dirty mouths!", he shouted.

"Good afternoon. In a tragic turn of events, Mr. James Trevor, the son of famed Hollywood Director Jonathan Trevor killed 5 and himself in a killing spree"

"BREAKING NEWS! Hollywood director's son kill 5 and shoots himself"

"HEADLINES! Beloved James Trevor dead. James Trevor was suffering from Asperger's Syndrome. Family mourns "

"NEWS NOW! James Trevor suffering from Asperger's Syndrome killed 5 people and killed himself. Jonathan Trevor to sue the doctor who was treating James"

"Ok. Do one more thing. Get our boys on facebook, twitter, reddit, and every other media forum and make them sing praises about my boy. Here, some happy photographs of his". "Yes sir, I'll get on it now". "And call the media near my house. They should not know that I called them"

"Oh! Please let me go. Please give me some privacy. I lost my son, and you're worried about interviews. You'll get the full report from me tomorrow morning. Please let me go.", the media found the legendary Jonathan Trevor sobbing incessantly.

"Sir! Social media is saying that James has Asperger's. Is this some ploy to get him off the hook?", an audacious reporter asked. "What?! Oh, Jesus! Save me! I am a law abiding citizen and all are equal before the law. My son had Asperger's. It is true. But he couldn't have killed so many. Please. Leave me alone", he sobbed and sobbed.

"Money can buy everything. It can buy you shotguns, it can buy you sympathy, it can buy you insanity, it can buy you grief, and it can buy you bliss", Jonathan thought. He was content that his step-son was dead. "How appropriate? The girl who saved my ass busted his ass!", he laughed as he took a sip of Scotch.

By V.k. Dadhich

http://vivekawrites.blogspot.com/

Disclaimer:

The characters named above are fictional, and any resemblance with real-life people is purely co-incidental. Brand names like "SkullCandy" (a brand of headphones), "Brrowning A-5" (a type of shotgun), Porsche (a brand of car) are solely used for the story and not for publicity/defamation. The artist's names (Beethoven, Frank Sinatra) have been used incidentally, so has the social media website's names (facebook, reddit, twitter). Hannibal Lecter is a fictional character of the novels written by Thomas Harris, which was inspired by a Mexican Doctor. In the fiction, Hannibal is a cannibal. The name of Thomas Harris is used in this short-story to avoid the allegations of plagiarism of his character, apart from his unwarranted role in this short-story.

A tribute to my mother, and every mother in this world

2014-05-10T22:05:00.000+05:30

!My way of wishing her a Happy Mother's Day!

*This is the unabridged version of the article which was published in The Hindu (South India’s national English daily) on 27^th April 2013, "The World's Toughest Job"*

I was led to write on this issue after I saw an ad which went viral on facebook. I even posted it on my wall, got a couple of likes and comments. One of them wrote: "Awww". Frankly, that's the only non-lexical filler I could utter after watching the video.

24x7x365 work with no breaks. No holidays. No salary.

This is just the glimpse of what is the world's toughest job. Yes, toughest. And all of us undermine it. Moms, or mothers (being honorific) do that job, the toughest job.

So; after the video, my mind started a slideshow of all things my mom did for me. Staying awake for consecutive nights when I was sick, bearing the brunt of my father's anger when I did wrong, wiping off my s#it and throw-up (I was too young back then). And now I scold her shouting, "Mom! You don't understand!". Don't understand what? She understood my emotions when I was nothing but a bag of flesh and bones who only uttered meaningless sounds! But that is different, right?

The slideshow continued. She was there at the best times of my life. When I scored distinction in my board exams, when I got placed in Goldman Sachs, and when I was out of home for a 2-night camp. She as there at the worst times of my life also, when I scored amazingly low in IITJEE and CAT. Of course even Dad was with me all along (certainly not undermining his role). But yes, somewhere I have a special place for my mom.

They say, you don't understand things fully if you can't express them in words. Well, I can't understand my mom. She gives me all that paneer sabzi and I happily gorge on it. Then does she come with chapatti and pickle. I ask her, "why?", referring to the paneer sabzi. She replies, "Oh, I know you like paneer so much. Moreover, I am fine with pickle". I highly doubt if I'd do the same if I were at her place. Self-less is the least virtuous word you can use to describe her.

There were days when I felt very low and even my mirror couldn’t see through me. My mom did. The other day, she sat next to me and asked, “Do you like somebody? Should I talk to father about it?” I exclaimed, “Hell no!!! why would I hide such a thing from you? I’m fine. Really”, I stuttered and stammered all along. She asked, “Tell me”. Whatever I told her next is part of the confidential agreement which I and my mother honor; but yes, I still wonder how in the world she knew about it.

This does not stop here. Even when I was in Bangalore for a good nine months, she’d know it somehow when there was anything wrong. One night, I was feeling unimaginably low. I was sitting in the aisle of a temple, whose doors were closed for the day. “Where are you? How are you? I did not have a good feeling about you, that’s why I called up”, mom called up. I recall that moment now, and call it the life-saver moment.

I really don’t know why I’m typing all of it here for the known strangers to see. I do know why. But it’s hard to admit. The fact is that I feel awkward in thanking mom for all the things she’s ever done to me and all that she’s to do tomorrow. Call it shyness. I always think, “she knows that I love her. Is it necessary to tell her every instance?” Frankly, yes. Even if she knows it, she’d be glad to hear it every time. I’m gonna try being more expressive, and tell her that I love her!

Then I look out of the window, and see mothers everywhere. A cow feeding it's calf, a bird feeding her offspring with the pre-digested food, a day laborer toiling full day and getting her son a 5-star. Words fail me beyond that. I wish I could tell the entire universe that my mom is the best! No, not 'my' mom. Every mom is the best! My soul shouted, "Maaa!". The cow mooed along with me.

I was muttering to myself these words when I fell asleep over the couch, with a bag of pop-corn in hand and a laptop over my belly. I wake up the other day -- in my bedroom, with the pop-corn bag emptied in an air-tight container, and the laptop neatly kept charging (with the lid on and the keyboard covered, lest dust should fall). I smirked, magic does exist.

IIT-M, Democracy, and the right to VOTE

2014-04-23T20:45:00.000+05:30

Dr. Ambedkar walked down the aisle to take a sip of coffee. Nehru caught up fast with him.

I heard him say, "I know why we all are here. But, I don't know why this strange looking guy is here?". Ambedkar asked, "Who are talking about ji?"

"Arey, that guy with glasses on, and that strange looking blue pant which is tore on all sides. . And look at the kind of shirt! No collars at all! And he didn't even touch Bapu's feet!", replied Nehru anxiously.

Ambedkar smirked and shrugged. Ambedkar saw the guy coming towards Nehru. He bid a quick farewell and vanished from the scene

That guy went to Nehru and asked, "Ask me about me. . Why ask anybody else?". "Ok. . Who are you?", Nehru asked. "Wrong question. The question should be 'where are you?'. .", the guy replied.

"Huh? Alright. where am I?", asked Nehru distraught. "You are a part of my dream. I have a quiz on parliamentary democracy to attend tomorrow. So, you are invited here to help me out", the guy replied. "Oh, so your name is Vk!"

********

"Oye! Wake up! How long will you sleep!", mom shouted.

"Arey yaar! I was about to talk to Nehru!", I remarked half-awake.

My one eye saw the clock, the other eye was sealed by mucous. Time was 7 am. Oh, it's only 7 am. I need to be in IIT-M by 11 am. Let's sleep a li'l more. I swear I closed my eyes only for 2 minutes. . But, the bullock cart called time suddenly got a rocket outta nowhere, and the time was 8 am!

I slipped my body in a worn out jeans -- the torn blue jeans -- and wore a kurta (with a collar! :P ) and off I ran to the bus stop. Come bus, and I'm en route IIT-M.

*where was I when the rockets came to life, and carried you away into the Aligator Sky!*

*Shoot me down, but I wont fall. . Cos I'm Titanium!*

*Darling don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years. . I'll love you for a thousand more*

*Aaja chanda bahon me, tujh me hi me kho jau. . Teri aarti mein utaru. . Saiyaan!!!*

Those, and more, were the kinds of songs I was listening to, and singing all the way. This hag sitting next to me was staring at me all along. What do I care?!

Nostalgia crept in; I was here at this place in 2008. 6 years passed. IIT did not change. I did. I grew taller, hairier, and franker. All the trees, the shrubs, overhanging roots, buttresses, the deers bore a sense of timeless change. What would they care of time!

********

So, I am outside the gates of IIT. Nostalgia gone, paving way for nervousness. I caught up with my teammates. One male and the other female. Apparently, an other friend of mine was to come and participate in the quiz. His team was already in the venue. We registered at the reception desk. I broke the ice with the receptionist, Sahil. "How many teams are you expecting?" "About 50. . optimistic", came his reply. I remarked, "Balance of probability?". He smirked.

We were in the venue. We were given free lunch coupons (spoiler alert: the lunch was amazing! *yum*). The prelims were supported to start at 11 am. 4 teams were there. The time of quiz was postponed to 11:45 am. I sensed a hustle. The other 2 teams were busy with their smart phones and smartest phones. Within 20 minutes -- believe me -- 12 teams joined in. Most of them who joined had unkempt faces, were on shorts. "Hostelers", my team mate hissed. The hosts had called their friends from the hostel to increase the crowd! :D

The quiz started. It was good. But we lost by 1 point margin. "Which is the oldest existing system of government in India?" was the question. We marked municipalities as the answer, fully knowing that cities emerged only after villages. We lost a point. The correct answer was panchayat system. Ya ya, you can heartily laugh over it. We laughed too!

I'm not gonna mention the parts where it is evident that the quizmasters were biased towards the host's teams. Neither am I gonna mention the fact that the contest's 1st prize and 2nd prize went to the host's teams.

What mattered was exposure. Must say, the questions selected were excellently researched. Did you know that a concept called "postal voting" was mooted for the armies? Did you know that Gujarat has a system of elections wherein voters can vote from their respective homes! We were enthralled to be part of this event. . :)

One of the teams was asked a very difficult question. "What are the 3 kinds of sessions which take place in the parliament every year? One of them is winter session". The team couldn't answer it. The other team passed the question.

"Who coined the slogan 'Jai Hind' ?". "Subhash Chandra Bose", was one of the team's reply. The quizmaster remarked, "I did not ask the name of the leader who popularized the slogan". The team had a facepalm moment. The answer is Shenbagaramar Pillai.

Apparently, the cholas (rulers of a part of S. India of 7th century AD) had a system called Kudagali system, as per which village people elected their representatives. It was very much similar to the present day elections. Only difference is that Cholas did not have EVMs.

The program was fun. The climax moment came when we met Mr. Gopalaswami, former Chief Election Commissioner of India. This man -- so energetic, so outright -- was frank enough to discuss the niceties of his views on electoral reforms. We were curious enough to keep him engaged for a good 15 minutes.

The winners were announced. The NGO and associations which helped organize the event spoke their views. The aim to keep such a programme was to spread awareness amongst youngsters, and to inspire them to vote.

It is true. One should exercise their ultimate right as a citizen of India, the right to vote. You may think, "what will happen with my one vote?". Parties can be toppled out of power. A completely new face could be the Chief Minister. That one index finger of yours, that stain over your nail and skin are testimony to the fact that you have been given the most valuable opportunity -- to change the fate of the world's largest democracy.

24th of April. Chennai goes to vote. You whistle for the CSK, use your fingers and thumbs incessantly for typing texts. Go ahead, let that index finger serve it's prime purpose.

Ready! Steady! Vote!

Then come back home and sleep (c'mon. . You'll be tired after pressing that button)!

********

P.S. One demanding request. Do let me know your feedback on how I write. There is not much to debate on. I seldom write on social issues. I don't know whether my articles are like a breath of fresh air to you, or something better/worse than that! So, do let me know. If it's an appreciation, I'd be glad to oblige. If it's a flaw, I'd be glad to rectify. If it's a joke on my article, I'd be glad to laugh with you!

For more, visit Vivek Apparently Writes